


Between the Sheets

by Alphie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussion of Abortion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealous Sherlock, POV Molly Hooper, Parentlock, Possessive Sherlock, Sexual Content, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlolly - Freeform, pregnancy difficulties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 57,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphie/pseuds/Alphie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of scenes that take place between Molly and Sherlock where one or both of our characters are in bed.  Sherlolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin

** Begin **

Their bodies rocked together in that primal moment of complete lustfulness.  They met each other skin to skin, heart to heart, over and over again. His body drove into hers until both of them succumbed to the glorious tension that had been building and they released great moans of pleasure and ecstasy.  He collapsed on top of her, panting so hard his breath warmed her already over-heated skin.  She reveled in the feel of his weight on her body, marveled at the sensation of their bodies fully joined as one, rejoiced that her desires had at long last been fulfilled.

How had this happened? How did they get here? One moment they had been discussing a case and the oddities that perplexed them both, and the next moment his mouth had been firmly pressed against hers.  He’d crushed her body between the wall and his own lean frame. He'd nearly torn off her clothing in his eagerness to reach bare flesh.  He'd quite nearly dragged her into her bedroom so ungracefully it was almost comical.  But she went with him willingly.  How could she refuse when she'd wanted him for so long?   

The sex had been frenzied but fervent, dynamic but dedicated.  It was everything she'd ever hoped it would be, dreamt it would be and more! Mouths, tongues, legs, feet, hands, and arms had been used to their utmost potential.  And Christ did it feel _good_! She was almost unprepared for how good it felt.  It rocked her to the core, not just sexually, but emotionally how passionate the whole process had been. She'd never expected him to be capable of such heated need, let alone that he would turn to her to explore his desires. Hell, she wasn’t even aware he had such desires, yet here he was lying on top of her completely stated.

Molly hummed in fulfillment and wrapped her arms around his body, content and eager to keep him as close to her as possible.

But Sherlock had other plans. He rolled off her and adjusted himself into a comfortable position on his back.  "Well," he said matter-of-factly, "that's been a long time coming.  No pun intended."

Molly turned her head to look at him, surprised at the casual tone his voice took.  Only moments ago, he had been calling her name and encouraging her to go faster and harder.  Now, he almost sounded as if none of it had happened.

"It was only a matter of time before you and I ended up in bed together, although I always thought it would take place in _my_ bed." He glanced around her room. "Perhaps this is better, though, given how irresponsibly we behaved." 

The sexual fog clouding her mind started to dissipate as she tried to work out the meaning in his words.   "Better that we made love here? Why?"

 "You stand the better chance for having the proper necessities for making sure our dalliance doesn't end with an unwanted birth."

She blinked at him in confusion, and sat up to look at him.  "What?"

"I didn't use a condom. Quite frankly, I hadn't intended to have sex with you tonight.  I figured itwould happen in the next few months, but I didn't come over here tonight with the intention of bedding you. Certainly not. Yet, the outcome couldn't be ignored a moment longer, and here we are.  Pleasurable as it was, I didn’t wear a condom.  Which actually probably added to the pleasure, but it still was irresponsible. I'm sure you are on some sort of birth control given the 'lots of sex' you were having just a few months ago with your imbecilic former fiancé.  Still, even if you aren't, I suggest a dose of levonorgestrel as soon as possible.

By this point, Molly was frowning – scowling at Sherlock.  Her face had to read something between horror and confusion, for Sherlock then said, "More commonly known as the morning after pill."

"I know what it is," she said, disgusted at the suggestion.

"Best make certain straight away that conception isn't even a possibility," he said, fighting off a yawn. "A child would be most unwelcome."

With all the force she could muster, Molly hit him with both hands and nearly knocked him out of the bed.

"What the bloody—"

"GET OUT!" she shouted, pulling the covers over her naked body.

"Molly?"

"Get the hell out of my bed!"

He actually had the gall to gape at her in surprise.  "Why? You've wanted me _in_ your bed for years!"

"A wish I whole-heartedly regret! Now get out!"

His brows came together. "No."

Her eyes went wide. "No?"

"Not until you explain why you've turned into a raging banshee!"

She hit him again. "Get out now or I swear I’ll start cutting up your most precious bits!"

Sherlock slid out from under the covers and unapologetically stood stark naked beside the bed. "This is why I have avoided such relationships,” he spat out.  “You women are so finicky in your desires." 

She waited a moment until he gathered up his trousers and began putting them on.  "I'm not finicky," she said, fighting back tears. "I just don't like being insulted by the man I've just made love with!"

"First of all, to say we ‘made love’ is an incorrect assessment. It was just sex, Molly.”

His words pierced her heart and left her cold inside. 

“And secondly, how did I insult you?" he asked, slipping his arms into his rumpled shirt.

Was he really that clueless? "Oh, Sherlock, please. Just get out."

Tucking in his shirt to his waistband he said, "I brought you to orgasm – twice, I might add – and then offered concern for an unwanted pregnancy, and yet you rage at me as if I've committed the most heinous crime."

"For someone who takes pride in his ability to observe, you really can be obtuse!"  She rolled her eyes and muttered, " _concern_..."

He zipped up his fly and, placing his hands at his hips, said, "Is that what this is about? The fact that I didn't use a condom?"

Molly glared at him.

"Honestly, Molly, you can't want a baby," he chuckled.  "The idea is absurd.  Has John and Mary’s situation gone to your head?"

Without warning, Molly screeched and threw a pillow at him.  "OUT! Just GO!"

With a huff, Sherlock turned to leave. "Why I thought this would be a good idea is beyond reason."

"Well, that makes two of us!"

He turned on her, his face growing red in fury.  "You have wanted me since the first time we met.  You wanted me every time I came into your morgue.  You fawned over me.  You primped for me. You wanted me so much you once donned your most whorish dress for Christmas and covered your lips in slut red thinking I would be drawn in by your womanly wiles." 

She inhaled sharply, unable to find words to fight back, unable to hold back the tears from falling.

But Sherlock wasn't finished. "You wanted me so much you almost married a complete imbecile who resembled me physically all in the search for sexual satisfaction!  And now that you've had me and I've given you the orgasm you've been craving, you second guess yourself and kick me out of your bed all for speaking honestly about something that could ruin both our lives."

The small sob that escaped her put an end to his belittling tirade.   "Please, just go," she managed softly. 

He stared at her for what seemed an eternity.  Molly held her breath, waiting for the next round of insults.  But they never came.  Without another word, Sherlock pulled on his Belstaff and left the room. A moment later, the door to Molly's flat was opened and then slammed shut. 

The silence and emptiness that was left behind in Sherlock’s wake was utterly painful.  With a whimper that made her hate herself even more than she already did, Molly crumbled down onto her pillow.  The joy she felt a short ten minutes ago was washed away by a flood of tears.  

 

AN: Please give me (and Sherlock) a chance to explain and make things right.  I PROMISE you this is a Sherlolly fic with all the expected trimmings.  If you don’t believe me, go read my other Sherlolly fic “White Flag” as I see this as a sort of sequel to that one. 


	2. Plead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to fix the mess he left.

** Plead **

She awoke suddenly knowing something wasn't right.  It was an unnerving sensation that forced her to open her eyes.  Upon seeing the dark figure of a man standing next to her bed, she gasped and bolted upright, pulling the covers to her chest as she went.

"Don't be frightened," the deep voice resonated in the quiet room. 

"Sherlock?" She sighed in part relief, part frustration.  "What are you... how did you get in here?"

He took a step forward. "Your lock is far from secure, Molly.  Any common criminal could enter your flat.  I suggest you consult your land lord on obtaining a new, more dependable lock."

She shook her head, trying to brush the sleep away from her mind and process the fact that the man she'd gone out of her way to avoid for the past week was now standing in her bedroom. "Why are you even here?'

"I would think that was fairly obvious," he said, casually sitting on the edge of the bed as if it were his own.  As if he was not only welcome but also that he belonged there.

She scowled and shifted away from him, hoping he’d read her body language correctly.  "No, it's not.  I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"You haven't spoken to me in six days."

"Which is a fairly obvious reason for you _not_ to break into my flat in the middle of the night."

“We had sex – very pleasurable and fulfilling sex - and then you stopped talking to me.”

She waited for him to continue, but when it became clear that he was finished, she said, “Your powers of deduction are really impressive.”

He shifted his position, leaning closer to her.  “You have been attracted to me for years.  You wanted me in your bed that night.  You willingly gave yourself to me, and in return I brought you to orgasm _twice_. You cannot deny that you enjoyed and desired a sexual relationship.  Yet, you expelled me from your bedroom nearly the moment it was over and have failed to speak to me since to offer an explanation.”

She gaped at him, incensed once again. “First of all, I don’t owe you any explanation.  The fact that you don’t understand what you did wrong speaks volumes.”  Then under her breath she added, “Although, I probably should have seen that coming given the fact that you have no clue about social situations or how to behave in relationships.” She sat up and continued. “Secondly, why do you keep harping on the fact that I had two orgasms?  Are you implying that I owe you for your generosity?  And thirdly, everything you just said to me proves me right for staying away!  I have shrugged your rudeness off in the past, but I can’t do that anymore.”

“Rudeness?  So that _is_ it, then?”

“Of course, it is! What else would it be?”

He hummed thoughtfully before scooting closer to her.  “I spoke to John about it, and he stated the same thing – that what I said to you about sex and contraceptives was rude.”

“You told _John_?!”

“Of course, I told John. When caught in the middle of a social dilemma, John is usually the one to explain my misunderstandings to me. Usually he’s wrong.”

“No, he’s right.  You were very rude!”

“He also said I should apologize. So, now that it’s been established that you found my observations to be rude, I shall offer up my apology and state that I’m sorry for…whatever it was I did that you found upsetting.” He smiled that smile that she didn’t trust. That fake smile that was more for show than for sincerity.

She crossed her arms and scowled at him. “And that’s your version of a proper apology?”

His smile dropped. “It _is_ a proper apology.”

“No, it isn’t!  You don’t even know what you did wrong!”

He sighed.  “For some reason, you took offence to the fact that I showed concern that you might have become pregnant given that I failed to use a condom. John said it was probably the way in which I said it – that expressing the concern isn’t the problem so much as the timing.  Now you see, I _do_ know what I did wrong. But I would argue that my timing was perfect, not to mention that I actually took responsibility for my own failings and participation in the possible problem.  Now, will you accept my apology?”

She sighed and closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief.  “It won’t make any difference.  I could argue this point until we’re both blue in the face, and you still won’t understand.”

He leaned closer to her. “Possibly, but does that mean you will at least accept my apology?”

She looked at his beautiful, pale blue eyes and knew it was pointless to fight him.  “I always give in to you.  You always get what you want.  Why should now be any different?”

“Then you forgive me?” he said without missing a beat. 

  
She rolled her eyes and very softly said, “I forgive you.”

“Good,” he nodded, and then stood up to remove his suit jacket.  “Now, slide over will you?”

“Slide over?”

“Yes, I prefer the left side.”

The meaning of his words hit her just as he started unbuttoning his shirt.  “Are you joking?  You think I’m just going to let you back in my bed?”

He pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers.  “Yes, of course. My apology was accepted.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you again!”

He flopped his arms at his side. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Molly.”

“I’m not being ridiculous! _You’re_ being ridiculous!  You don’t just say you’re sorry to a woman and then hop into bed with her.”

“Why not?  I believe it’s called make up sex, isn’t it?”

“That only applies to couples, which we are not.  One romp in the bedroom doesn’t make us a couple!  Besides, I have no intention of ever going to bed with you again.”

He put his hands on his hips letting his shirt hang open.  “Then why the hell did you forgive me?”

“You asked me to!”

His voice rose in pitch and volume. “I asked you so you would allow me in your bed again!”  


She gasped, horrified at his admission. “Oh, my God!”

“Do you have any idea what you have put me through this week, Molly?  Any idea at all?”

“What I put _you_ though?”

 “Yes! Ignoring me.  Refusing to even acknowledge my presence or speak to me. I can’t think! I can’t work!”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Because you’re the reason I can’t think clearly!”

She shook her head in confusion.

“I spent the last several years keeping my distance from you out of respect for you and for the fact that I don’t want to be distracted from my work,” he explained.  “But after so many years and so many failed opportunities, I found myself unable to resist the desire I feel for you.  I didn’t understand it, and what I don’t understand needs to be explored and tested.  So I gave in, foolishly believing that one turn under the covers would satisfy the perpetual itch. What I found, instead, was a glorious, all consuming euphoria that cleared my mind and relaxed my body unlike anything I’ve ever felt before!  I want that feeling again.  I _need_ that feeling again!”

Molly literally sneered at him. “So your apology had nothing to do with actually feeling sorry for what you’d done, but everything to do with your need to have sex again.”

“YES!” Then quickly, “No…no, no. I _am_ sorry, but I also want to sleep with you again.”

She looked up to the Heavens for understanding and mumbled, “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.” Her focus returned to his eyes. “Sherlock, I’m not here to be used solely for your sexual satisfaction.  You might think I’m desperate, but I’m certainly not a whore.”

He scowled.  “I never said you were a whore.”

She leaned forward and spoke slowly, clearly.  “There are lots women in London you can pay for what you need.”

“And what’s that?”

“You are here because you need a one off.”

“I don’t need a one off!”

“That’s what you just said—”

“I need _you_ , damn it!”

Her mouth opened in an attempt to reply, but she found herself lacking. 

“Don’t you understand?” he continued, his voice edgy, his body tense.  “It isn’t just sex that I long for.  If that were the case, I would be like any common man thinking exclusively with his genitals. What I require is you.” He returned to his original position on the bed, but his body was tense now, not comfortable like before.  “What I felt with you, what you helped me find was new and unfamiliar and…” he shook his head as he searched for the right word.  “Intoxicating.”

Molly took a deep breath. “Bit of a cliché saying I’m like a new drug.”

He moved closer.  “Better than a drug,” he said softly.  “More powerful.” He leaned closer to her, making her heart race. “More…personal.” He placed his hands on her arms. “More sensual.”

“But if it was just sex—”

“It wasn’t _just_ sex.  I was wrong on that account. It was something more. Something I can’t explain.” His hands were now sliding up and down her arms, over her belly, around her waist.  “I’m confounded by it, by you.  Which is why I need you again.  I need to experience all of you again.”

She looked at him, her eyes boring into his.  “You were cruel.”

“Can you appreciate that I was just trying to be cautious?”

“Sherlock—” But before she could push him away again, his mouth found hers in a deep, needful kiss that made her insides turn to mush.   He pushed his body against hers as he pushed his tongue inside her mouth.  She knew she should pull away and slap him for his actions, but she found she simply couldn’t.  She wanted this despite how horribly she had been treated.  When it ended, she was panting hard, and to her happiness, so was Sherlock.

“You want me.”  She felt the rumble of his deep voice in the pit of her belly.

“Yes,” she sighed, sliding down to lie on the bed.  “And I will hate myself for it.”

“No, you won’t,” he said, moving the covers aside and covering her body with his own.  “You’ll enjoy every moment of it.  As will I.”

As usual, Sherlock was right.

AN: If you want more, please let me know.  I have sevearl chapter ideas, but I'm worried I've missed the mark.  In all, this could be a 15 chapter fic spanning about 2 years of their time together.


	3. Explore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closest thing I think this fic will get to "fluff" as Sherlock gets a closer look at Molly's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks go to kathmak898, Bella_Cuore, Nemo, Shopgirl909, carrisa, Bucky05, Sherlockian_87, AleTheOldLady, leidibrf, cheryl, TheNewJefferson for reviews and iveBenSHERlocked, rinn_deuces, Nydamascus97, jaia85, Jess_Loves_things_and_stuff, miabicicletta, emmajoe, Jlove86, reszta546, Bucky05, carolineb87, and pezi3 for the kudos! 
> 
> Honestly, folks, your support means so much! I had someone pretty big in the fandom reject my story after reading chapter one, which is why I posted chapter 2 right away. I wasn’t sure if I was nuts or if anyone else would like my ideas. I’m thrilled so many of you offered your support. Becasue you've been so great, here's chapter 3! I don't think I'll be able to post again until next week. Work, family, and that master's degree I'm working on always take time from fandom play.

** Explore **

“Am I too heavy for you?” he breathed against the sensitive skin of her breasts. 

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“I like it,” she explained.

“Really?”

“I like the feel of your weight on my body.”

She felt his chuckle, low and satisfied.

“Why is that funny?” she asked, lazily playing with a few curls of his hair.

“Because it fits. I enjoy your softness, your delicateness.  You enjoy my…”

“Hardness?” she giggled.

“Yes, and don’t even try to deny it.”

She knew what he meant, but the innuendo was equally as true.  She’d enjoyed him in her bed almost every night for over a week now.  Regardless if his case involved a thief, a jilted lover, or a false identity, he always managed to find his way into her flat and between her legs at some point during the night.  This rare occasion of him not having a case allowed for them to actually sleep at Sherlock’s flat for once, even though they hadn’t done much sleeping.

He’d texted her to come to Baker Street – that he needed her.  She went debating the meaning of the word “need” in this instance.  Did he need her for help on a case as a scientist and doctor? Or did he need her in the way that a sexually active man needs a sexually compatible woman?  She didn’t know what it said about her that she was thrilled it was the second definition. 

“You’re body is surprisingly small,” he said now, kissing her left breast lightly, tenderly. 

“If you’re going to insult my breasts, then you don’t get to sleep on them!”

He lifted his head to look at her. “I’m not talking about your breasts. While they are small, they are perfectly sized and proportionate for your frame.”

She frowned.  “So, it’s all of me that’s small?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, and dropped an equally gentle kiss on her right breast.  “I knew you were significantly shorter than me, but it has always been difficult to tell how truly petite your frame actually is due to the amount of layers of oversized clothing you insist on wearing.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

He tilted his head and clicked his tongue. “Why do you always assume I’m insulting you?”

“Because you usually are!” she laughed.

“Molly,” he said, and she smiled because she adored the way he said her name.  “I’m simply making an observation.”

“There are no simple observations with you, Sherlock.”

“Look,” he said, leaning up on his elbow and spanning her waist with his hand.  “My hand can cover the entirety of your belly.  With both hands, I very nearly go all the way round your waist.”

“That’s not a comment on the size of my stomach as much as it is the elongated length of your fingers!”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “So, I have elongated fingers, now?”

“Not that I’m complaining!” she laughed. “You know what they say about a man with long fingers,” she said in the most lustful, husky voice she could manage.

He hummed in agreement. “And my shoe size is a forty-five.”

She blushed scarlet. No matter how well she had come to know his naked body, she still blushed when he saw fit to turn on the charm and speak suggestively.  Hell, she blushed most times he even said her name. His voice just had that kind of a power over her. 

“Which brings me back to my original point,” he said.  “You are quite petite.”

“So?”

“So, I was surprised by the fact. I had thought you would be a little more… fleshy... rounded.  You know.”

She knew.  “Fat.”

“No, not f—” he frowned. “Good God, do you really think I have such a low opinion of your appearance?”

“You’ve never given me a reason to believe other wise.”

His eyes turned into slits. “What about the fact that I get hard at the very idea of having sex with you?  Or that I’m hard right now from talking about your body? That’s no indication that I find you attractive?”

She shrugged.  “Men get off on despicably ugly prostitutes all the time. The fact that you get hard at the suggestion of sex means that, contrary to my former opinions on the subject, you’re a man with a normal sex drive.”

“Possibly, but I’ve never been hard from thinking about sex with a horribly ugly prostitute. Rather revolted, actually. I only get this way,” he thrust his hips against her suggestively, “when I’m around you.” And then he sealed his mouth over hers, flitting his tongue in and out of her mouth.  She moaned in gratification, letting her legs fall open so he could fit against her more perfectly.  God, he felt good.

“Why do you do it then?” he asked through kisses.

“Have sex?” she asked.

“No, choose the monstrous outfits you wear.”

He moved to kiss her neck and shoulders, which made it difficult for her to think clearly, but she offered the best explanation she could.  “I like to be comfortable.  I work around chemicals and dead bodies.  I don’t shop for expensive things so I never worry that something I’m wearing might get ruined.”

He fondled her nipple while he said, “Logical, but it still doesn’t explain why the clothes have to be so ill-fitting.”

She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell him what was really in her heart, but she knew he would see right through any lie she tried to offer.  “Every time I do try to look nice, you point out how silly it is.  That my efforts are all in vein and that I’d never be pretty enough, so why even try?”

He stopped cold and looked directly into her eyes.  She wanted to look away, his stare was so penetrating, but she held his gaze with as much courage as she could muster. 

“I’m sorry for that,” he said in sincerity. “I only said those thing so you would never realize how attractive I found you.  I’m truly sorry.”

She wove her fingers through his hair, placing her hands on both sides of his head, and pulled his face to hers for a deep, long kiss.   Her legs wound around his hips as she welcomed him into her body once more.

“So small…” he mumbled against her mouth.

“And yet I still can take all of you.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, filling her to the hilt. 

 


	4. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives Molly an unexpected gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really glad so many of you like the story well enough to comment! Kudos are like high fives and a comment is like a hug! Specific thank yous go to Icecat62, lilsherlockian1975, leidibrf, Sherlockian_87, shopgirl909, Nemo, TheNewJefferson, Cheryl for the comments and to FangFan, sherlockinlove, always_annajane, giulia_cavalsi94, MissingAPart, Wesley_rocko, saradesoie, Alyshaluz, flavialikestodraw, Aclysmic, dailyobsession, and purple_dahlias_in_winter for the kudos. Oh, and to the 45 guests who liked it but didn't sign in. LOL!
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**Gift:**

The first indication she had that she wasn’t alone was that she felt the covers move.  And then the bed dipped.  As an arm slid around her waist, she gasped and turned to see…

“Sherlock?”

“No one else had better be crawling into your bed at three a.m.”  His kissed her mouth and tugged at her body to get her to turn fully around so she could fit against his frame.  As usual, she obliged. And as usual, he was fully naked.

“What are you doing here?” she asked while enjoying the way he arranged his legs with hers and pulled her close.

“I would think that was fairly obvious,” he said, kissing her again.  She wasn’t sure if he used that phrase as often as he did because he thought the rest of the world was completely clueless or if he was testing to see if other people observed things the same way he did.  Either way, that phrase was starting to get on her nerves.

“No, I mean, I know what you want, but it’s the middle of the night.  Why… I mean, not that I’m complaining.  It’s just I didn’t expect—”

“You weren’t at Baker Street,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“I told you to come to Baker Street.”

Yes, he had.  Yesterday afternoon when he’d left the morgue, he’d said she should come to Baker Street that night.  “I did, but you weren’t there.” 

“Of course I wasn’t. I was on a case.” He leaned up on his elbow to look down at her.  “Good God, Molly, you keep making the most obvious statements as if they are grand revelation.  Are you all right? Has your brain not quite woken up enough to properly process?”  


Exasperated with his lack of patience and clarity, she sat up to gain some higher ground.  “I know what you told me.  And I know you weren’t there.  So, what was I supposed to do?  Sit on your stoop until you got home?  I was tired, so I left.”

He followed her movement and sat up next to her.  “Mrs. Hudson would have let you in.  Really, Molly, this is simple common sense.”

She started to laugh. “Right.  I’m supposed to tell Mrs. Hudson to let me into your flat so that I can… what?  What was I supposed to tell her?”

“Just that you needed in. She’s knows you’re welcome there.”

“Sherlock, land lords aren’t supposed to let random people into their tenant’s flats just _because_. I’d have to tell her you had something I needed to get back.  She would let me in, and then she’d wait for me to get it and leave your flat. Then she’d lock the door behind her. She wouldn’t just let me in and walk away.”

“You aren’t ‘random people.’ She knows you, and she knows I trust you.  You could tell her that what you needed to do would take a while.  I’m certain she’d let you stay.”

“And then a few hours later when I hadn’t left yet and you hadn’t arrived, she’d wonder why and come up to check on me. I would have probably been in your bed and she would know that I’d lied to her to get into your bed. She doesn’t even know we’ve been… you know...” Even Molly wasn’t certain what to call their relationship.  “She’d think I was insane and acting out of desperation!”

He frowned and hummed in thought. “True.  Mrs. Hudson does tend to show up in my flat at inopportune moments.”

Molly wasn’t sure if she should be glad that Sherlock finally understood the error in his plan, or if she should be hurt that he so quickly agreed that Mrs. Hudson would think Molly was desperate for Sherlock’s attention.   Either way, she didn’t have much time to think about it because of what Sherlock said next.

“Well then, I’ll have to give you a key.”

Molly blinked in surprise and waited for Sherlock to figure out the implication of what he’d just said

Sherlock merely looked back at her as if nothing important had transpired. 

“Now that that’s settled, can we lay back down so we can resume our intimacies?” He shifted back into a reclining position and waited for her to join him.

Molly licked her lips, still processing what had just happened in disbelief.  Slowly, and with some uncertainty, she lay down and allowed Sherlock to pull her against his body again.  He resumed kissing her mouth, her neck, her collarbone.  His hand stroked up and down her sides, lingering near her breasts. Normally, Molly would be reduced to a pile of goo just from one kiss, but she found her mind was too preoccupied with the fact that Sherlock was going to give her a key to his flat to actually relax into the delicious sensations Sherlock was doing his best to create in her body. 

As his hand found their way under her shirt, she hesitantly said, “I’ll get you a key… to my flat, too.”

“Take this off,” he said, tugging at her nightshirt. “Why?”

She complied. “Why what?”

He greedily lowered his mouth to her breast.  “Why would I need a key to your flat?”

Thought was starting to become difficult as his hand slipped between her legs. Even still, she managed a breathy, “Don’t you want one?”

“Unnecessary,” he said, pulling down her pajama pants.

“But… if I have a key to Baker Street—”

“You’ll use it.  I won’t have any need to come to your flat.”  He pulled her leg over his hip and fitted their bodies together in one fluid motion. 

“Maybe,” she sighed into his mouth. “I’ll want to sleep in my bed at some point.”

“Nonsense!” he said, rolling on top of her. “Why would you want to sleep alone on a lumpy bed with only a cat for company when you could sleep with me?”

“Wait,” she said, pushing him away. “You think my bed is lumpy?”

“It’s not a matter of opinion, Molly. Your bed is most uncomfortable.” He leaned down to kiss her, but she pushed him away again.   

“Then why do you come over here?”

He frowned again.  “Obviously, because this is where you are. I truly hope these pointless questions are because you’re either sleepy or muddled from the anticipation of sexual release.”

“They’re not pointless questions, Sherlock.” She scooted out from under him, and received a frustrated growl as a result.  “If you would just say what you mean at the start, I wouldn’t have to look like such a fool.”

“I did say what I meant!  I wanted you to be at Baker Street when I finished with my case. You weren’t there, so I had to come over here where I have to fight off a cat for space on a lumpy bed.”

He wasn’t making things better. “Now you take issue with Toby?” She covered her face with her hands.

“Hang on,” he said leaning up on his elbow again. “Why are you upset over this?”

“Because I thought you were being romantic!”

“Romantic?” he chuckled.  “That implies I’m being sentimental, which I never am.”

She rolled her eyes, and with a groan pulled a pillow over her face.

“Molly…”

She wanted to scream.  Would she ever learn?  He wasn’t being romantic at all.  He was being selfish in offering her a key simply because it served his purposes and made things more convenient for him. 

“Molly…” he said again, brushing his fingertips over her bare belly.

“You know what, Sherlock?” she said, her voice muffled from under the pillow.  “I think you’ve successfully turned me _off_.”

“Why? Because I would rather have sex with you at Baker Street than here?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Molly.”

She threw the pillow off and pointed a finger at him. “You always say that, and yet I think you’re the one who’s ridiculous!”

“I’m being logical!  It would serve us both better if I gave you a key to Baker Street and you waited for me in my flat.  That way I wouldn’t have to break into your flat, trip over your cat, or fight for a comfortable spot on a mattress so old it offers little in support. Likewise, you sleep more soundly on my bed than you do here.  Also, my bed frame is more sturdy which opens up more opportunities for sexual experimentation.”

She gaped at him a moment, trying to find the fault in his argument.  “You made me feel badly for thinking you might want a key to my place, too.”

“If it makes you feel better to give me a key, then fine, I’ll have one.  But I really don’t see the point.  I’ll never use it.”

Her lips jutted out in a pout. “My things aren’t always the bad things. At least I have food in my refrigerator, rather than random body parts.”

“But I live next to a shop, and we can always order delivery,” he said, lying down next to her and shifting close so that his leg could cover hers.

She looked at his face - his handsome, chiseled face – and considered the options.  Fight with this man, who will never give in and always wins in the end, and risk losing what little of him she actually had, or give in now and enjoy him for as long as he would allow it.  For surely this wasn’t going to last.  She knew she only had a limited amount of time before Sherlock would declare her boring and take his attention elsewhere. 

For now, he wanted her.  He wanted her enough to give her a key to his flat to ensure she could be with him.  He wanted her enough to allow her access to his personal space even if he wasn’t there. That’s what he wanted. And who was she kidding, she wanted it too. 

“Okay.  I suppose.”

He kissed her.  “Good, now may we continue?  I’m rather hard and in desperate need of relief.”

She smiled.  “Yes, of course.  As if I could ever say no to you, you big bully.”


	5. Discover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly discovers a few interesting tid bits about Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very busy week this week with a huge paper due for my master's degree, so I figured I should post now. Just don't expect more for probably two weeks. SORRY! I could also use a beta reader if someone is good at that sort of thing. The first beta I had turned me down becasue she thought the fic was too harsh. Sigh... yeah... it gets that way with Sherlock. He's not always very nice, is he?
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fluff of this chapter and keep in mind that the "relationship" is rather new. They are just getting comfortable... and then I promise all hell will break lose. Two steps forward...
> 
> Thanks to Nemo, leidibrf, Icecat62, Sherlockian_87, InMollysWildestDreams, shopgirl909, and Bucky05 for the comments!  
> Thanks to Potix, ReadsALot59, screamnuggets, tifalockheart27, NeedingAnOublietta, mandy95, abbeylovely for the Kudos!  
> You all have no idea how much it means to me that you are reading and that you like it!

** 5\. Discover **

“Is it the texture, the color, or the style that fascinates you?”

The question took Molly by surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“My hair.  You’re always playing with it.” 

Her fingers, currently threaded through a mass of curls at the back of his neck, suddenly stilled.  “No, I’m not.”

Sherlock’s head popped up off the pillow ever so slightly to allow a pointed glance over at her.  He was lying on his stomach, and Molly had taken the opportunity to run her fingers over his bare back and shoulders.  It hadn’t taken her long to find her way up to his neck where she began the ritual of playing with the individual curls she could find.

“Molly, your hands are in my hair more than they’re inside a cadaver.”

She made a face.  “Do you always have to be so disgusting?”

“I wasn’t aware you found my hair disgusting.”

“I don’t, it’s the cadaver comment. Oh, never mind.”

“You work with cadavers.  Again, I wasn’t aware you found them disgusting.”

“Sherlock!” she huffed and flopped back onto the bed.

After a moment’s pause, in which she hoped Sherlock would understand her frustration, he asked, “So which is it, the texture, the color, or the style?”

She rolled her eyes, knowing that it was pointless to explain what he’d said that drove her mad.  “All three,” she answered. 

He hummed thoughtfully.  “I’ve often found that women wish they had hair completely opposite from their own.  Women with short hair wish it were longer.  Women with brown hair wish for blonde, and so on.”

“I don’t wish my hair were like yours, if that’s what you’re suggesting.  I like my hair. But I like yours, too.”

The visible corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up in a smile.  “I’m glad to hear you like your hair.  Typically, women point out what they don’t like about themselves in a backwards attempt at gaining a compliment, when in reality pointing out one’s fault to a significant other is actual quite a turn off.”

Molly made a mental point of the fact that Sherlock had just referred to himself as her significant other and resumed her exploration of his curls.  “Speaking from experience?”

“No,” he frowned.  “Not really.  Unless you count your own personal complaints, for which, you elucidated, I was mostly to blame.”

“You have been known to insult me.”

He rose up on his elbows.  “To which I apologized.”

“Yes, you did.”

Sherlock collapsed back down on the bed. “Now, are you done teasing my hair, or do you insist on turning it into an Afro?”

Molly laughed out loud.  “Afro?”

“Yes, Afro.  It’s what happens to naturally curly hair when it’s picked and teased and combed too much.  The curls frizz and expand.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that!”

Sherlock rolled over onto his back. “Trust me, it’s a most unpleasant sight.”

“Wait.  Is that why there are hair products in your cabinet?”

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed.

Molly let out a little chuckle.

“Why is that funny?”

“I thought they were John’s and that he left them behind when he moved out.  I just would have never pictured you as the sort to put product in your hair.”

“Every person with naturally curly hair who doesn’t wish to have a head covered in wild, uncontrollable frizz uses product on their hair.”

Molly teased at a curl that had flipped onto Sherlock’s forehead.  “Still, you’re not really the type to make such a fuss over your appearance.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed.  “I beg to differ.  I’m quite particular about my clothes, my shoes, my coat.  Why should my hair be any different?”

Molly shrugged.  “I suppose.  Your shirts do fit you to perfection.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged again.  “Nothing, really.  Just that they… you know… they _fit_. Very well.”      

“Of course, they fit.  You’re the one who prefers over sized clothing despite your tiny frame and proportionate figure.”

Molly smiled at his words, taking them as a rare compliment mixed in with the slight about her clothing choice. She’d been teaching herself how to read between the lines of the things Sherlock would say to look for the occasional positive in his typically negative conversational style.  When Sherlock referred to her body in a nice way, Molly would always blush, and calling her tiny and proportionate was Sherlock’s unusual way of saying he found her figure attractive. 

Molly sighed, thinking about his words, and refocused back on her original observation.  “What I mean is that most men pick out shirts that are lose or look casual. Your shirts look tailored and cut specifically for your frame.”

“Because they are.”

She stopped with her hand over his heart. “Really?  You have your button down shirts tailored?”

“I told you, Molly, I am very particular about my clothes.  I’m particular about most things, or haven’t you noticed?”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”  She actually felt rather silly for it, because no one was more particular than Sherlock when it came to how work was completed or paperwork filled out or tests were run or pants were hung up or a scarf was tied. He had a particular way of doing everything, almost to the point of compulsion.  “I’ve always known about your obsessive tendencies in your work. I guess I just didn’t fully see how obsessive you were about everything, from clothes to hair products.”

Sherlock shook his head.  “I wouldn’t say I’m obsessive.  I just like what I like.  What’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing, I suppose.  It can just be difficult when things change. Like your tailor moves or your favorite brand of hair product goes off the market.”

“Or you have to adjust your sleeping habits to accommodate a woman with mounds of hair and the tendency to steal the covers.”

“What?!” Molly sat straight up.

“Not that I’m complaining.  I’m just offering it as an example as to how I’ve adapted to this new situation.”

She frowned, her shoulders slumped. “Well, if you don’t like it, why insist that I’m—”

“I’m not complaining, Molly,” he stressed. “I just like things in a particular way, and I’ve had to… adjust to accommodate for you.”

Her frown deepened.  “You don’t need to accommodate me.”

“Yes, I do, for I would rather sleep with you than without you, and sleeping with you means brushing aside mounds of luxurious hair and holding on to what covers I can manage.”

She shook her head.  “You could find a bed partner with short hair who doesn’t steal covers.” 

“Molly,” he said in that tone that alerted her he was growing annoyed with their conversation and that whatever he would say next would be the end of it.  “I told you, I am particular about everything.  My clothes, my shoes, my work, with whom I choose to share my personal space, and especially who I allow in my bed.”

For a moment, Molly smiled and felt warm inside. “Really?”

“Yes.”

It was yet another one of those moments when Molly was certain Sherlock didn’t realize he was complimenting her, but made her giddy inside all the same. 

And then she remembered something. “You let that Irene Adler woman sleep in your bed.”

“Not while I was in bed with her,” he corrected. “And technically, she arrived when I wasn’t here, so I didn’t exactly allow it.  It just…happened.”  His brows twisted in curiosity.  “Did John tell you about her?”

“Yes.”

Another hum rumbled in his chest. “Well, please don’t become all girly and possessive and jealous.  I managed to keep her at arms length.”  His eyes slid shut as he added, “I can’t say the same about you.”

Molly smiled a little wider and decided to take a chance and be bold.  “Does that mean you are particular about me?” She ran her hand lightly over his abdomen.

“Of course.”  He took her fingers and pulled her down to him.  “Particularly frustrated by your odd questions, your obsession with my hair, and the fact that you’ve managed to arouse me with a simple brush of your fingers.”

Sherlock’s kiss was deep and hard.  As was the way he filled her a moment later and brought her to completion with expert and _particular_ precision.  


	6. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while. The next update might be a while, too. But I'm so grateful to everyone who comments or leaves kudos on my story. It really means so much!
> 
> And a HUGE thank you to shopgirl909 for beta reading for me. She went above and beyond the call of duty with a problem I was having in a future chapter. More on that later...
> 
> Thanks go to: 
> 
> Alyshaluz, MissingAPart, Mediocrates, fatela7, and caro1991 for the Bookmarks
> 
> Caro1991, theSapphireSky, lilsherlockian1975, ereshtsciSherlock, varjaks, tobetheone, screamnuggets, tifalockheart27, and Alonzo_Anonymouse for kudos!
> 
> shopgirl909, Nemo, Sherlockian_87, leidibrf, Bucky05, Lizinthewoods, lilsherlockian1975 for comments!

** 6 - Sleep **

It was around one in the morning when Molly heard the door to Baker Street open announcing that Sherlock had finally come home. She hadn’t seen him in four days, yet he’d texted her to tell her he’d be home that night and that she should be sure to meet him at his flat. She’d donned a pretty nightgown, grabbed a book, and sat up in his bed reading to help pass the time until he arrived. Now that he was back, she set the book aside, fluffed up her hair, and leaned back against the headboard in what she hoped would be a sexy pose.

Sherlock barely even glanced at her when he entered the room.  He mumbled something that may have been a greeting but was more likely a complaint before stripping to his boxers and collapsing onto the bed with his face buried in the pillows.

The whole thing was very unlike Sherlock.

“Are you all right?” she asked, stroking his curls.

“Tired” was the only reply.

“I see that.  Can I get you something to eat?  Drink?”

“Just sleep.”

She fidgeted with his curls some more, feeling both sympathetic and disappointed at the same time.  She knew what it felt like to work a double shift and be totally bone tired.  Yet she also knew what it felt like to be totally sexually satisfied by this man. The second feeling far outshone the first, but couldn’t be achieved until the first was relieved. So, she would let him sleep.

Careful not to disturb him, she started to slide off the bed. 

“Where’re you going?” he mumbled into his pillow.

“Home,” she said softly.  “I’ll let you sleep.”

“No… stay…” he moaned. 

“Sherlock,” she hushed, “There’s no reason for me to stay.  I only came over because you asked me to, but since you’re so tired, I’ll go home.”

His eyes cracked open ever so slightly. “You can sleep here. Don’t need to go home.”

She considered it for a moment, and in that moment Sherlock seemed to fall asleep.  She took the liberty to watch his back gently rise and fall in even rhythm with each breath.  What little of his face she could see looked serene and peaceful, almost boyish. She smiled, carefully touched his curls again, and decided, once and for all, that she really should leave.

She hadn’t taken two steps away from the bed when he grumbled.  “I told you to stay.”

Turning to face him, she replied, “You’re asleep.”

“And you bloody well should be, too!”

“But Sherlock, I have to be at work early and—”

“Just get in the bed, Molly,” he demanded.

She wet her lips, “Well, that’s not very nice.”

Sherlock growled, literally, and turned over to sit up. “Damn it, woman. It’s one o’clock in the morning. I’ve been awake for over thirty hours. My patience is wearing too thin, and I’m too tired to be nice.  Now, I would prefer to be sleeping with you rather than arguing with you, so if you would just get in the bed we can have done with this nonsense and get some sleep.”

Molly popped a hip.

“Please,” Sherlock added sharply.

“You want me to get in bed and just… sleep?”

“Oh, good God, Molly,” Sherlock groaned as he flopped onto the mattress.  “That’s what people do in a bed.  Sleep.”  

“But…”

She’d never _just_ slept with Sherlock.  Ever. She’d fallen asleep next to him after sex several times.  However, he kept such odd hours that it was a rare occurrence for her to spend an entire night with him and then wake up in the morning with him still asleep next to her. In fact, she had never stayed all night with him when she had to be at Barts for an early shift. It just wasn’t practical. He never seemed to mind that she left, especially once their mutual lust had been stated.

“No but’s.  Come to bed.”  Sherlock emphasized his point by pulling back the covers and patting the empty place next to him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Molly did as he asked.

“You act as if you’re scared of me,” Sherlock observed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she replied, pulling the covers over her waist.  “Well, I mean, it’s not _wrong_ , it’s just…”

Sherlock’s arm slid over her hip and he pulled her closer.  “Just what?” he asked as he closed his eyes.

“Why do you want me to sleep with you?”

A slight furrow appeared between his brows, but he didn’t open his eyes.  “You sleep with me almost every night.  And the nights that you’re not here, I don’t sleep at all.”

“We might have sex almost every night, but I don’t sleep with you.  And why don’t you sleep when I’m not here?”

“Can’t.  Hard to sleep,” he mumbled.

The idea made her heart flutter at the possible meaning.  “You can’t sleep…as in actual sleep…without me?” she asked, curious if she’d heard him correctly.

But Sherlock was asleep.  Soundly.  And Molly, after one last touch of her hand to his curls, followed him a few minutes later.

***

Molly awoke with a jolt, frantically turning to look at the clock to confirm if her panic was warranted.  It was just after six and she had to be to Barts by seven thirty. She turned her head to look at Sherlock, still soundly asleep.  Carefully, she removed his arm from around her waist and placed it down on the bed. Then she slowly slid away from him. Without warning, his arm was back around her middle, and he said, “Where are you going?”

“To work,” she answered.

“Not yet,” he said before pulling her against him and finding her lips with his own.  “I want you.”

Difficult as it was for her to refuse him, she pulled away and said, “Sorry, I don’t have time.”

Sherlock scowled, “What do you mean? It’s early.”

“Yes, and I have to be at work in a little over an hour.”  She stood up and started pulling on her clothes.

“Don’t get dressed,” he complained. “Barts isn’t that far. You have time.”

“No, I don’t.  I have to go home, shower, get dressed, feed Toby, feed myself, and _then_ get to Barts.”

“Why can’t you just shower here?”

“Because I don’t have any clothes.”

“What about the ones you’re putting on?”

“I wore this outfit yesterday.”

“No one would notice.”

She stopped getting dressed and glared at him.

“You put a lab coat on over it anyway,” he said. “I don’t see the point in changing.”

“Yuck, Sherlock, but even still, I have to feed Toby.” She smiled at him before opening the door to head out into the hall.

Sherlock stood up and wrapped the sheet around his waist to follow her.  “I doubt the cat would die of starvation if he had to wait a few more hours for a meal. It might encourage him to find a mouse.”

Molly slipped her arms in her coat and picked up her bag.  “No arguing, Sherlock. I’m going.”

“But I’m…”

“You’re what?”

He paused a moment.  And then swallowed.  “Aroused.”

“Really?” she smiled. 

“Yes, we didn’t have sex last night and I fully anticipated making amends for that this morning.”

“Sorry, but I have to go.  My work schedule and paycheck trump your sexual needs this time.” She kissed him quickly and opened the door.

Sherlock promptly forced the door shut the door. “Why are you doing this? Is it a punishment? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” she smiled, enjoying the fact that the lack of her presence would torment him. “In fact, this whole conversation is actually quite right…sick and twisted as that may be.  But it doesn’t change the fact that I have to go!”

She put her hand on the doorknob only to have Sherlock grab the same hand and pull her towards him and away from the door. “Promise me you’ll come back tonight as soon as your shift ends.”

She looked up into his cool, blue eyes to find nothing but warmth and desire reflected in them.  “I promise.”

He kissed her, soundly and surely, leaving no doubt as to the state his body was in and the frustration he would most certainly experience all day long.  Hell, even Molly would spend the day counting the hours.

***

  
She closed the door to 221 B Baker Street and was immediately met with a very warm, very aroused male body pressing her back against the wall. With his mouth hungrily feasting on her lips, she dropped her bag and gave into the sensations of his hands recklessly undressing her.  The time it took for him to discard her clothes, carry her to the bedroom, and fill her to the hilt was astonishingly fast.

And damn it all, if she didn’t love every second of it! She – little mousy Molly Hooper – had driven Sherlock Holmes crazy for sex.  Even though it didn’t last long, she considered it a huge triumph.

“Five days is too long,” he mumbled, rolling off her and relaxing into the mattress.

“Hum?” Her brain was still muddled from the sex.

“It’s been five days since we last slept together. I’ve been most uncomfortable all day.”

“Sorry.  Next time, don’t be away for so long.”  She pulled the cover up over her bare chest and snuggled into the pillow. She’d rather snuggle against Sherlock, but she knew better.  He wasn’t really the snuggly type. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” he said. “We could have had sex this morning if you hadn’t insisted on running off.”

“I insisted because I needed to get my things from my flat.  You don’t have extra clothes for me here.”

“Yes, I do.”

The comment caught her off guard. “No, you don’t.”

“Well, I didn’t this morning, but as of 12:34 this afternoon, I do.”

“What are you talking about?”

For the first time through the whole conversation, Sherlock looked over at her.  “You gave me a key to your flat, so I used it.  I took the liberty to gather up a few shirts, pants, socks, some rather enticing bits of under garments, and a pretty little negligee that I assume you purchased for my pleasure.  They’re in the top drawer of my bureau.  I also went to the shop and purchased a small amount of your particular brand of shampoo, soap, and toothpaste as well as a loofa, toothbrush, and hairbrush. I didn’t purchase any cosmetics, but there is room in the cabinet should you care to store any here. You don’t wear too much of it to be a necessity, and I prefer you without it anyway.  I also made sure your cat had an ample supply of food, so that shouldn’t be a distraction tonight. Which means that you should be able to spend all night with me as well as all morning and still manage to get to work in time without needing to rush off before we can fully expel whatever sexual tension needs to be expelled.  And did I mention that I used your key, which I believe was part of a previous argument that had you most upset over the fact that I didn’t see the reasoning behind having one.  Now though, I have used it much to my advantage, and I see your previous point in the importance of my having one.” He finished with one of his smiles that wasn’t quite a smile but more of a smirk.

Molly was left speechless. 

“Now then,” he continued, sliding closer to her. “Given the excruciating erection I had all day long, I fear that our dalliance a few moments ago was embarrassingly brief.  I, personally, intend to improve upon my abilities to bring you to orgasm and spend the rest of the night making up for the five days I’ve gone without the pleasure of your body.”

Since Sherlock made no further move to kiss her or touch her, she assumed he was waiting for her to say something. “Can I just clarify something first?”

“Certainly.”

“You’ve given me a drawer in your bureau and a shelf in your cabinet?”

“Yes.  Was that not clear?”

“No, It was very clear.  I –”

She considered pointing out to him that his actions meant something to her.  That by giving her this space and taking in parts of her world tied her to him in a very intimate way.  That only a man who intended to keep a woman close by for a long time made space in his flat for her. That it was quite domestic and even somewhat sentimental.  But upon second consideration, she opted to stay quiet and enjoy the possibilities rather than talk about it and have Sherlock confirm that the only reason he’d done all of these things was so he could have sex with her more readily. For that had to be the reason. Sherlock would never truly want her the way she wanted him. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” he asked, again opening her suspicions to a possible change in their relationship. Sherlock never questioned his actions. He just did what he pleased, without wondering how others would react.  Yet now he wondered if he’d done the right thing.  She found it fascinating, and exciting. 

“No, no.” she said.  “I’m just so surprised.”

“Good surprise, I hope.”

“Yes, of course.  Very good.”

Very good indeed, she thought. Good enough that she slipped fully under the covers and proceeded to use her mouth to give him a surprise of his own.

 


	7. Definitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has difficulty with a few definitions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a snow day! I wish I had a warm and fuzzy chapter for everyone on a cold day, but alas, it's not to be. 
> 
> Thanks go to:  
> Trinity71 and AdelaideE for the Bookmarks.
> 
> Gabriella_t, electrageira, 221B_akerSt, kaianookami for kudos!
> 
> Sherlockian_87, leidibrf, lilsherlockian1975, gabriella_t, and Iris_Reid92 for comments!
> 
> And shopgirl909 for the wonderful job as a beta!

7\. Definitions

“I rather despise it when the solution is that butler did it.  It’s such a cliché, but alas, this time it was the truth.” 

“I had my money on the lover,” Molly said, putting her brush away and glancing at her reflection one last time before heading into the bedroom.

Sherlock was climbing into bed. “More often than not, it is the lover. Yet this time it was the staff.” He stopped and followed Molly with his eyes as she crossed through the room, hung up the sweater she had taken off, and then joined him in the bed.

“That’s a skimpy little thing you’re wearing,” Sherlock said, obviously pleased.

“Yes, well I thought I’d do something nice for you since I won’t be here tomorrow.”

“Won’t be here?” Sherlock frowned. “What do you mean? Where will you be?”

“My friend Meena is having a dinner party. It’s probably going to be a very late night.”  She laughed lightly considering the antics her friends could get up to.

“Dinner party,” Sherlock hummed, running a hand over Molly’s silk covered hip to find the bare skin of her legs. “Not really my sort of thing.”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t invite you,” she said, kissing him lightly on the mouth.

His hand found its way between her legs. “Of course not. It isn’t your party, you aren’t the one doing the inviting.”

Molly opened to him and arched her back, seeking more of the amazing sensations Sherlock was creating with his talented fingers.  “True, but I had a plus one.”

Sherlock’s fingers found their way under the fabric of her panties.  “A plus one? Is it a maths party?”

She giggled and then moaned in pleasure and his fingers found the spot they had been searching for. “No,” she breathed. “A plus one…” She found it difficult to concentrate. “…means I can invite…” She gasped and he flicked at the tiny nub.  “…someone to accompany me.”

Sherlock stopped his ministrations but left his hand in place. “What?”

“You know, a guest. I was invited and could bring a guest of my choice.”

His eyes grew dark as the scowl formed on his face.  Molly could feel that his previously gentle hand had abandoned her and was now fisted around the bed sheets.  “You invited someone to go with you.” 

“Yes, of course.”

“Someone other than me?”

“Yes.  You don’t like parties.”

“But there will be dinner?”

“Yes.”

“And wine?”

“Hopefully.”

“And you’ll presumably spend the whole evening with this chap talking about silly things and getting drunk and laughing at nonsense.”

Molly rose up on her elbow. “Is there is a problem?”

Sherlock echoed her movement. “Yes!  Dinner, Molly, combined with alcohol and silly conversation is the basic definition of a date.”

“So?”

“So?” he spat.  “ _So_?” He physically moved away from her.  “We’re about to have sex, and yet you think it’s perfectly all right to go on a date with someone else tomorrow evening?”

“I think it’s perfectly all right because I don’t want to spend the evening alone, and I know you don’t want to go.”

Sherlock sat up, his body ridged and stressed. “First of all, you will not be alone. You will be at a party with other dunk people acting equally as foolish.  Second of all, you didn’t ask me so you can’t exactly state that I wouldn’t accompany you.”

Molly slumped back against the headboard. “I didn’t ask you because you are horrible to my friends, and you hate chit chat.  I wanted to have fun tomorrow evening, so I invited someone who would also try to have fun.”

His mouth gaped open. “You don’t think I’m fun?”

She cocked her head in wordless reply.

Sherlock ignored her. “Personally, I think spending an evening wrapped around your luscious body is much more fun and interesting than any dinner party ever would be.  Don’t even try to deny that you don’t find just as much pleasure in sleeping with me as I do with you.”

“I never said I don’t find pleasure in having sex with you.  Obviously, I do. But I also find pleasure in going to parties with friends.”  She leaned closer to him and quietly said, “You are not the be-all-end-all that my life centers around.”

“Yes, I am,” he said without missing a beat.

Molly made a disgusted sound, pulled back the covers, and got out of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

“Oh, come now, Molly. Don’t be rash.”

“I’m not being rash. I’m being sensible and leaving.” She grabbed up her clothes.

Sherlock jumped out of bed and darted around the edge to capture her hands in his.  “Don’t you dare run off.  We’re not finished.”

She jerked away, turning her back on him “Yes, we are.  You don’t get to boss me around.”

“And you don’t get to date other men!”

“You’re jealous!  Admit it!”

He scoffed at her. “Jealous?  Of bad food, cheep wine, and boring conversation? Hardly!”

“Then why stop me from going?”

“Because,” he said pointedly, “it’s a _date_!”

She whirled around to face him. “So what? Why can’t I go on a date?”

“Because you’re sleeping with me!”

“But I’m not _dating_ you, am I Sherlock?  We’re not dating each other, are we?  We just sleep together from time to time!”

“We have dinner!”

“From the shop next door. You’ve never taken me out to a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, God, Molly.  Don’t be so dull.”

“Its not dull to want to have some fun.” She was face to face with him. Each time his voice rose, hers matched it in volume. 

“We have fun!  Sex is fun!”

“Sex is all we do.”

“And you like it!”

“Well, I’d like to do a few other fun things.”

“And running around with other men is your idea of other fun things to do?”

“It’s one night, Sherlock!”

 “And given that you don’t intend to return here tomorrow after your date, I can only assume you plan on sleeping with him”

“Why would you—”

“I never took you for a whore!”

The slap jolted them both. Sherlock rubbed at his reddening cheek. “At least you acknowledge your tawdry behavior.”

Molly shook her head. “You’d better stop talking Sherlock before I end this for good.”

“Fine!  An end to this argument would be most welcome.”

“No, Sherlock. An end to the sex. An end to all of it.”  

His gaze drilled into hers. She almost took a step back from the power she felt under that stare.  Almost.

“You wouldn’t dare. You’ve spent too long trying to gain ground, and now you’ve got it.  You wouldn’t walk away, all over one lousy date with some imbecilic moron.”

Molly bravely held his gaze and stood her ground.  She hadn’t intended to end things.  No, she most certainly didn’t want to end it, for she loved him deeply.  But given his reaction to her supposed “date” and the fact that he couldn’t even admit to being in a real relationship… and the fact that he thought she would actually sleep with another man… well, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“I don’t think it will be lousy at all,” she said.  “In fact, I wager it will be the most fun I’ve had in a long time.  And yes, Sherlock, I can end it over one date.  Not the one you’re thinking of, but rather the one you never took me on. I can end this so-called sex affair because that’s all it is.  You’ve told me time and again, it’s just sex.  You’ve proven time and again that what you want from me is between my legs and nothing more.  So I can end it because I’m looking for more.”

Sherlock growled his reply. “And I’ve told you that it’s more than just sex.”

“Then what is it, Sherlock? What is it that we’re doing? What am I to you that you don’t want me to spend an evening with another man?”

“You’re… we’re… we’re… together.”

Molly rolled her eyes and turned around to put her clothes on over the negligee she wore. “When you can’t even define it, then I know for certain that it’s just sex.”

“But it’s not.”  He grabbed her hand.  “I swear to you, Molly.  It’s not.”

She pulled away again and picked up her bag from the floor.  “When you can define our relationship, if that’s even what it is… then maybe I’ll reconsider.”  

She headed toward the front door only to find the way blocked by Sherlock, who had darted around her. “Don’t do this. This is absolutely ridiculous!”

She nearly came undone. “Stop saying I’m ridiculous! I hate that word so much, Sherlock, because you’re the one being ridiculous!”

She brushed past him to open the door, only for him to slam it shut and, again, block her way.  “NO!  Just stop! You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Sherlock, get out of my way.”

“No, I won’t let you do this. You don’t understand!”

“I do understand. I understand very clearly.” She shoved him aside and tried to open the door only to have him slam it shut once more.  “Sherlock!”

“I beg you, Molly. Don’t do this.”

That caught her attention. “Beg?”

“Yes.  I’m begging you.  Don’t. You don’t know. You will regret this, I’m certain of it.”

She looked at him for a long time, considering her feelings for him and the fact that they would never be reciprocated. She considered how much it meant to her that he even paid her the time of day let alone that he would beg her to stay with him.  She thought about her drawer of clothes and the cabinet shelf with her things and how it had been his idea to give her that space.  And then she remembered all the times he’d manipulated and used her to get what he want while she got very little in return.  What was she really getting in return?  Sex, sure, but she wanted more.  She deserved better.  And if he couldn’t see that, then she needed to end it.

“No, Sherlock.  You will regret this, not me.”

She opened the door and started down the stairs.

“One date!” he yelled at her. “Moments ago you were on the brink of orgasm and then this happens all because of one _goddamn_ date!”

Molly headed out of the building. As the door closed behind her, she stopped and took a deep breath.  She was jolted by a very loud “GO TO HELL” followed by the sound of Sherlock’s door slamming shut. 

And then the tears of confusion and doubt fell down her cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... who was in the right??? I'd love to hear from you!


	8. Deduce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock figures out the key to fixing the situation. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally ICED in in Nashville and have nothing to do but watch TV and play on the internet... and write! So you're benefitting from the ice and getting second chapter very soon after the previous chapter. Many thanks to shopgirl909 for beta reading and convincing me I had it a bit wrong. This chapter wouldn't exist had she not told me how wrong I was! 
> 
> Thanks to:  
> Dailyobsession, Iris_Reid92, sherlockian_87, Nemo, InMollysWIldestDreams, lilsherlockan1975, gabriella_t, Becky5, marthiachan, tobetheone, and leidibrf for comments!
> 
> 221B_akerSt for the Bookmark.
> 
> New_New_York, Marthiachan, and applejacks0808 for the kudos!

8 – Deduce

“Molly.”

She registered the voice, but thought nothing of it. 

“Molly.”

That voice was so familiar. And given the source, she knew it had to be a dream for he couldn’t possibly be talking to her right now.

“Molly.”

Oh, yes he could. And this time, the voice was accompanied by a shove on her shoulder. 

“Wake up.  I have something important I need you to clarify.”

She blinked and looked up at Sherlock. And then over at her clock.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock. It’s three AM.”

“Yes, I know it's three AM, but this is important and it can't wait any longer.”

Despite the haze of sleep surrounding her brain, Molly slowly sat up. “What’s so important?”

“I need the answer to a question that’s been driving me mad for weeks now and making it difficult for me to concentrate on my work because it seems so simple, and yet it has managed to elude me all this time.” 

Molly blinked back the sleep from her mind and tried to focus on him. “You want me to answer a question even though we haven’t spoken in weeks, so you broke into my apartment and woke me up at an ungodly hour.”

“Yes! The difficulty is much too taxing for what, I’m sure, is a simple solution.  And obviously from the state of your apartment you've been having difficulties, as well! I mean, my God!” He turned around and took in the state of disarray of the room.  “When was the last time you did any laundry? Either you're purposefully dressing in filthy clothing, or you’ve grown depressed over our separation and in typical female fashion have begun sporting sweats and t-shirts in lieu of decent clothing. I doubt that you're on some sort of schedule where you're buying your clothes new and wearing them directly from the hanger as opposed to just washing them, as that would be entirely out of character regardless of how much your wardrobe is in need of updating.”

She hated it when he deduced her.  Hated it even more when he was right.  Hated it most of all when the deduction came with an insult. 

“Shut up, Sherlock.  I really don’t have the patience for your insults.”

“I’m not meaning to insult you, just merely pointing out that you seem to be in an equally distressing state of being.”

She shook her head.  “Ask your question and just go.”

“Yes, of course.  What was the name of the man?”

He looked down at her in expectation.  She, however, looked back in bewilderment.

“What man?”

“THE man, Molly.  The one you left me for.”

“Oh,” Molly said after a moment, completely unconcerned. “Oh, that…man.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide.  “Yes, that man!” He began pacing around her room, waving his arms around with hand gestures that were wild and erratic. “It’s been so perplexing and aggravating not knowing.  I’ve gone through the whole conversation in my head multiple times.  I remember what you told me, how I reacted, how you reacted, but the one piece that's missing is the man's name.  You never told me the man’s name, and given how the whole situation played out, I realized I must have missed an important detail. The only detail I can’t seem to come up with is his name.  That is the missing piece isn't it?”  He stopped with his focus on Molly, his hand reaching out to her as if she could place the answer right in his palm.

“Wow,” she said dryly.  “I'm impressed. It only took you two weeks to ask a question you should've asked two weeks ago.”

“Ha ha!” Sherlock jumped up and spun around. “So, that is it, isn’t it?   That is what I’m missing. I was right. I knew it. I knew it!” 

She sighed and knew what was coming next.  He was so clearly bursting to tell her.  She might as well just ask.  “How did you figure out it was the name that you needed?”

“Because nothing else made any sense.  Literally.  I couldn’t make sense of what happened.” The pacing that always accompanied his deductions started up again.  “We were in bed, in the process of what should have been a perfectly wonderful sexual experience, when you told me about your date.  I reacted to your comment in very justifiable way. It bothered me that you became so upset over my reaction. I've replayed it in my mind over and over again, and I am absolutely certain that my reaction was appropriate.  You told me that you were going out with another man while I was doing my best to arouse you sexually. Had the situation been reversed, Molly, had you been fondling me and I told you I was going to see another woman, you would have castrated me.” He stopped and pointed directly at her. “Don't even begin to deny it. That's exactly what would've happened.  You would have had my balls, and I would've been left singing soprano.”

Molly bit her bottom lip, hating, again, how right he was.

“Now then, that leaves me considering the other factors.  My reaction, warranted as it was, brought about irrational behavior from you.  You most uncharacteristically walked out on me.  Usually such a reaction comes from my inability to behave in a socially correct manner, but this time I’m positive my reaction was correct.  Thus, your reasoning for leaving couldn’t have been solely my reaction.  Additionally, you purposefully go out of your way to not upset me or examine the nature of the situation we’ve built.  For example, you didn’t get emotional or sentimental over the fact that I moved some of your belongings into my flat.  You tried your damnedest to be nonchalant when I know it made you see stars in your eyes, yet you said nothing.”

Molly crossed her arms over her middle, sinking into herself as he spoke.

“The other factor I had to consider was that you came back at me with the whole idea of dating.  You were visibly upset before we came to that part of the conversation, but talking about a date, or the lack thereof, must have pushed you over the edge.  Never before have you mentioned dating to me, so I eventually brushed that option off as a side effect, which left me still perplexed over the reasoning behind your reaction in the first place. It has upset me greatly, and apparently it has upset you as well because from looking at your kitchen you are obviously eating your feelings.”

Sherlock became distracted by the empty food packages scattered around the kitchen. “Good God, Molly, chocolate biscuits, ice cream, crisps, and wine?”  Sherlock picked up two empty bottles and signaled to the others on the table. “So much wine. This is obviously food consumed by a woman who is either, one, going through her menstrual cycle or, two, suffering from the loss of a love affair. Number two is a given since number one should've happened last week. You did have your cycle last week didn't you?”

Molly scowled.  “You know when I'm on my period?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Of course, I know things like that, Molly! That's who I am, and that is why this whole situation is so perplexing.  What was it that was said or done that made you react?  What was it that pushed your limits?  I had a similar conundrum when you expelled me from your bed after our first sexual encounter.  John pointed out my rudeness in that instance, but when I told him about this, he agreed that my response was justified.”

“You called me a whore!” she bit out.  “How is that justified?”

“Dating two men at once is a bit whorish.”

“I didn’t sell myself!”

Sherlock took a step back.  “Was it the whore comment then?  Because I’ve been convinced that it was the missing name that was the key to your odd behavior.  That it was a person of some importance to our relationship – someone I know and to whom I should have been aware you were attracted.  I figured I had missed the signs that your desires were being drawn elsewhere, and you had grown angry with me for missing something so obvious. Yet, if it’s the whore comment—”

“SHERLOCK!” she shouted in frustration.  “Just ask me!”

He looked at her, his eyes focused on the truth he was missing. “What was the name of the man you took to the party?”

She waited, making sure her answer would have proper dramatic effect on him.

“Clarissa.”

It was evident from the confusion on Sherlock’s face that she’d managed to surprise him.

“You’re not a lesbian,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“No,” she chuckled, “I’m not.”

“Then why… Clarissa… is a woman…”

She could see the wheels turning in that beautiful brain of his, but the answer still eluded him.

“When I got the invitation, I immediately thought of asking you. I would have loved to walk in to the party with you by my side.  Tall and handsome and more brilliant than anyone any of my friends have ever been with. But I considered how much you hate parties and how you hate my friends even more.  So, I let go the idea.  I didn’t want to go alone, so I thought about which one of my friends would enjoy a night out with dinner and drinks.  Clarissa’s had a rough go of it the previous few weeks.  She lost her job and has taken work in a shop that she hates, making barely enough to scrape by.  I figured she’d love a chance to unwind and have a laugh for a night.”

Sherlock stood stock still through her whole explanation.    

“Not once did I consider taking another man to the party,” Molly said. “I would never do that, Sherlock, and yet you jumped to that conclusion straight away.  You spend your life making deductions about complete strangers based on what they ate for breakfast, how they hold their phone, and where they parked their car.  Yet with me, someone you’ve been in a relationship with—” She corrected herself. “That is, _I’ve_ considered what we had to be a committed relationship, regardless of how you saw it.  Yet it took you all of two seconds to assume that not only was I dating another man, but that I was sleeping with him while I was sleeping with you.” She pursed her lips. “Do you really know so little about me? Do you really think that’s who I am?”

His stare was piercing and cool.  Molly stared back at Sherlock, determined not to break, not to cry.

In a deep, soft voice Sherlock said, “There was never anyone else.

Molly shook her head.  “How could there be?  You’ve said yourself, I’ve been pining away for you since the day we met.”

Beneath his breath, Sherlock mumbled, “Which I’ve never really understood.” His focus shifted away, almost in guilt. “I should, perhaps, offer you an explanation to my own behavior now that the mystery surrounding your own is solved.”

“I think the explanation is that you were jealous, which you refused to admit and pissed me off even more.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” he insisted.

“You were, too!” she said, her voice rising to a pitch that she knew annoyed him. “Why can’t you just admit that—”

“It wasn’t jealousy, but rather anger,” he interrupted.  “Anger that the inevitable had finally come to fruition. That you’d come to your senses, realized what a complete and total ass I am, and found someone actually worthy of your affection.”

Molly inhaled sharply.  “You thought I wanted to leave you?”

 “Molly,” he said in that way that the butterflies in her stomach always responded to.  “I am not a nice man, and you are extremely kind.  I’m a liar and you are honest.  I manipulate you and use you, and yet you smile and come back for more.  You tip toe around me as if you’re afraid you’ll upset the applecart by stating your desires, when the truth is… I’ve known from the start that if anyone would end this affair it would be you.”

 Molly’s mind had difficulty taking in all the various meanings and hidden messages that were between the lines of his admission.  She struggled for the right words in response.

 “I will admit to understanding your reaction if you will admit to understanding mine,” Sherlock offered.

 It was probably the closest thing she was going to get to an apology. Sherlock was justified in reacting the way he did had she actually gone out with a man.  Moreover, knowing now that he fully expected her to eventually start dating someone else made his quick judgment somewhat understandable. But she wasn’t fully convinced saying sorry was going to enough in this instance. 

 “I can agree to that,” she said with hesitancy, “if you can agree… to take me out… on a date.”

 His face screwed up as if he smelled foul cheese.  “What?  A date?”

 “Yes, a date.  A proper date. At a nice restaurant that requires me to wear a dress and you to wear a tie.  I want you to pick me up in a cab and escort me to dinner and open the door and pull out my chair and bring me home when we’re finished. And, if you’ve been good, you might get a kiss at the end.”

 The groan that resonated from Sherlock’s throat was like a wounded animal. “But to what purpose?”

 “Because I want you to date me, Sherlock!”  Really, he couldn’t be that dense. 

 “But a date is for people to get to know each other.  It’s for juvenile questions about work and family. I already know all of that! I know your methods in pathology. I’ve watched and admired your skills in the lab.  I’ve spent hours with you discussing science and people and neurosis.  I know how you like your eggs, and I know how you take your coffee. I know exactly where and how to touch you to bring you to orgasm.  Hell, I know the damn brand of cat food you feed Toby!  I know you!  I don’t need to date you!”

 Her heart fluttered at his words, but she still had to point out what he was missing.  “Then you should know I would never leave you for another man, Sherlock.  I might someday leave if you hurt me desperately and are unusually cruel, but never for another man.”

 His mouth formed a hard line as he weighed the options.  “Is this an ultimatum?”

 She shrugged, “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I guess so. Yeah.  You either date me… or your don’t.”

 “Then I suppose there’s only one thing to do.”

 Molly’s heart sank and nearly shattered as he walked toward her bedroom door. He turned at the threshold and looked back at her without showing any emotion. 

 “Friday night.  Seven o’clock.  I’ll pick you up here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are LOVE!


	9. Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly gets what she asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ice and snow allowed me to be very productive this week. So here is another chapter to say thank you to everyone who has been so supportive. I hope you like this one. 
> 
> Many many thanks to me wonderful bet shopgirl909. And more thanks to: 
> 
> Gabriella_t, sherlockian_87, Alyshaluz, marthiachan, leidibrf, Mina, Always_AnnaJane, Iris_Reid92, applejacks0808, and lilsherlockan1975 for comments!
> 
> HamletsDaughter for the Bookmark.
> 
> Petnurser and anasaziana for the kudos!

**_ 9 - Payback _ **

Sherlock was a meticulous planner when it came to dating. He might have been a bit robotic in the way things were played out, but the plan was immaculate. Molly was met at her door with a single rose and a kiss on her hand.  He was dressed impeccably, and even wore the requested tie.  A fine and surprisingly clean cab took them to the Blueprint Cafe where they had champagne and a view of the city while they ate dinner and talked about everything and nothing.  Another cab ride returned Molly to her apartment where Sherlock walked her to her door, kissed her cheek, and bid her good night.  It was exactly as Molly ordered.

And it frustrated the hell out of her. 

Sherlock behaved in a most un-Sherlock type manner.  He didn’t argue all the details with her during their conversation. He didn’t roll his eyes or make a face when it came to the more sentimental aspects of the evening. And most appallingly, he didn’t try to get into her bed once the evening was over.  He didn’t try to get into her flat.  He didn’t even try to kiss her passionately! 

 It had to be a trick.  Had to be.

 Then a second date came a few days later and was carried out in much the same fashion.  A little less extravagant dinner – no tie for Sherlock - followed by a museum exhibit where Sherlock deduced the mental stability of the artists based on the color schemes and dynamics of their work.  While he did escort her and take her hand a few times to guide her to the next exhibit, it was all done methodically and not out of romance. He did put his arm around Molly at one point, which excited her and made her lean into him a little. That had been a mistake, for Sherlock caught the error of his arm position and quickly removed it from around her waist.  The evening, again, ended with a frustrating good night peck on the cheek, even if it did linger a little longer than the first time.

 The simple facts were that Sherlock was obsessive and observant. He wasn’t the type to admit defeat or go down without a fight.  He didn’t like to admit he was in the wrong, either. He had to know now that he was wrong to jump to the conclusion that Molly would date another man, but he didn’t have to admit to it.  All Molly had requested was a proper date.  In his obsessive way, he took that request to the nth degree and made the whole scenario about her request _only._ Since Molly hadn’t requested sex, or even an attempt, then she didn’t get it.  And being the overly observant man that he was, he had to know that Molly was aching for him to kiss her, to touch her, to do more than what she had requested.  Molly had blamed him for saying the relationship was all about sex, so as proof that it wasn’t, he removed all the sexual advances and suggestions from the situation.

 It was a game to him.  Only give what was requested until she admits that she, too, wants more.

 It was on date three a full month after the fight that started all of this that Molly reached her breaking point and knew it was up to her to change the status quo.  Sherlock once more took her to dinner, this time at a cozy little Italian restaurant. But when he announced his plan to take her to hear a string quartet, Molly faked a headache.  Sherlock argued with her that she was fine, but Molly insisted on going home.  On the way home, she kept her eyes closed and her head against his shoulder as she complained about the growing ache behind her eyes.  She even convinced Sherlock to help her into her flat where she went right to the bedroom to lie down. 

 “Be a dear and get me some aspirin from the bathroom,” she said, heading into her bedroom before Sherlock could refuse. 

 She heard Sherlock mumble something as he fidgeted in her bathroom cabinet. Then the water running signaled he was filling a glass.  “You know, Molly, if you didn’t want to hear the quartet, you didn’t need to fake a headache,” he called to her from the loo.

 A moment later, Sherlock stepped into her bedroom.  “Because I don’t believe for one moment that you have a—”

 He stopped short.  In the space of those few moments, Molly had tossed off her clothes and placed herself in the middle of her bed dressed solely in her undergarments.  Black ones.  With lace. And they didn’t cover much.

 “Right,” Sherlock said, setting down the water and pills. “So, no headache then.”

 “No headache,” Molly breathed.  “But I might have a _fever_.”

 He took a step closer to the bed.  “Is that a suggestive way to get me to state that you’re hot?”

 “Possibly.” Molly adjusted her position to give Sherlock a better view of her breasts. 

 He wet his lips and took another step closer to the bed.  “You realize this is only our third date.”

 “So?”

 “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to get the impression that my interest in you is only about the sex, as you have accused.”

 “Sherlock,” she groaned.

 “Actually, from the fact that you lied to me about a headache just to get me in your bedroom, coupled with the way you are scantily clad while writhing on the bed, I can only assume that your interest in me is purely sexual.” He didn’t even try to hide the smirk.

 If he wanted to play, then she would certainly play.  “Tease me all you want, Sherlock,” Molly’s hand drifted over her breast, down her stomach, and stopped between her legs. “But I have a feeling you’re getting hard as we speak.”  She let her legs fall open for emphasis. 

 It obviously took some effort for him to draw his gaze away from her hand and focus solely on her eyes.  “I’ve never said I didn’t want you, merely that I have successfully completed three dates without any attempt at getting you into bed.  The same can not be said for you, however.” His eyes flicked to her hand and then up to the ceiling.

 Molly stopped, and sat up.  “Are you really not going to touch me?”

 “Do you still think my interest in you is purely sexual?”

 “I don’t know.  That depends on whether you think of me as your girlfriend or not.”

 Sherlock made a face.  “Girlfriend. Boyfriend.  It’s so juvenile.”

 “So is pitching a fit when someone moves a glass of mold from the table to the counter, yet you’ve done that before.”

 “That’s different.”

 “Still juvenile.”

 He frowned at her.  “Why don’t you just admit that your interest in me is just as sexual as my interest in you?”

 Molly gaped at him.

 “And before you argue that it’s not, consider that _you_ are the one nearly naked and fondling yourself in an attempt to get a rise out of me.”

 “Because you haven’t touched me!  In three dates, you haven’t touched or kissed me! It’s been a month since we’ve been together, and yet you still don’t touch me!”

“Just doing as you asked.”

 “Yes, but…”

 “But?”

 She rose up on her knees to look him in the eyes more directly. “I want you to touch me.”

 “Do you want me to date you or touch you?”

 “Both!” She reached out for his hand and pulled him against the bed. “People touch when they date.”

 “Which usually leads to sex.”

 “Is that a bad thing?”

 “Apparently so, given the accusations you’ve thrown at me.”

 “Is this payback for walking out?”

 “Possibly. More like a taste of your own medicine, I think.” 

 She placed her hands on his chest and leaned into him.  “Can I change my mind?  Can I want to date and be wooed _and_ have sex?  Like normal couples?”

 He placed his hands on her waist, his fingers tracing the lace of her panties. “Only if you agree to never call me your boyfriend.” 

 She frowned and bit at her lip.

 “We’re together,” he offered.  “We’re a couple.  We’re in an intimate relationship.  Most importantly, we’re exclusive.”  He shook his head, “But a boyfriend…is not my thing.”

 She smiled.  “Ok. I’ll take it.”

 He kissed her then, hard and sure.  His hands slid under her bottom as he lowered her to the bed and placed himself firmly on top of her.  He sipped at her lips, her throat, her breasts, before returning to her mouth and plunging his tonged inside to taste her.  His arms wound around her middle, holding her tight against him as his kisses devoured her. 

 Molly rolled on top of him and tried to pull away.  Sherlock rose up to meet her, bringing her lips back to his own. “Don’t stop,” he sighed into her mouth. “I’m starving for you.”

 “I just want,” she said through the unending kisses,” to get your clothes off.”

 Sherlock didn’t need telling twice.  His offending trousers and pants were discarded in such haste Molly was certain there might have been some damage done.  He flipped her over, pulled off her panties, and pressed her into the mattress as she quickly undid the buttons on his shirt.  Before she could remove his shirt fully, Sherlock was sliding into her heat and beginning the climb toward ecstasy.   They rode out the storm until the tumult had passed and they were both basking in the glorious afterglow of their exertions.

 “Am I forgiven?” Sherlock mumbled into her hair. 

 “Am I?” she breathed.

 “Of course.”

 “Likewise.”

 Still slightly breathless, Sherlock rose up to look down at her. He cupped her face in his hands and placed a gentle, slow kiss on her lips.  “It isn’t the sex, Molly.”  He kissed her again, even more slowly and gently than before.  “It’s _you_. It’s always been you.”

 Molly’s heart swelled in joy as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her until they both drifted off to sleep.  


	10. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly gets a surprising glimpse into Sherlock's childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to:  
> shopgirl909 for being a fantastic beta... and helping me keep the characters in line and on point.
> 
> Sherlockian_87, Boton, Alyshaluz, Bucky05, leidibrf, Gabriella_t, Krystal Dexter, Mina, lilsherlockan1975 for comments!
> 
> Mandy95 and Charlotte1093 for the Bookmark.
> 
> Safe_safe, Booklover9477, Boton, and Superwholockian2108 for the kudos!

10 – Childhood 

“There is a cat on my bed.” 

Molly looked down to her left where Sherlock was sleeping to see him now awake and eyeing Toby at the foot of the bed.  “Good morning to you, too.”

“Why is there a cat on my bed?”

With her attention on her laptop screen and the medical updates she had put off for far too long, Molly typed away as she spoke.  “Because I don’t like him spending his nights alone.” 

“That explains why he’s in my flat.  It doesn’t explain why he’s in my bed.”

“He sleeps with me.  So if I sleep with you, then he sleeps with you.”

Sherlock sat up and glowered at the cat.  “I didn’t invite the cat.”

“No, you invited me and said I could move some of my things over here.” She stopped typing and turned to look at him.  “He’s important to me, Sherlock.  He’s been in my life longer than you have.”

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.  “He’s a cat.”

“Brilliant observation.”  She began typing again.  “What have you got against cats anyway?”

“They go where ever they like, have no respect for food or experiments sitting out on counters, they scratch at and ruin the furniture, and only want attention on their terms.”

Molly smirked, “Are you describing Toby or yourself?”

“Don’t be smart.”

Still typing away, Molly said, “If you had any idea what it is to have a pet, Sherlock, you might understand my desire to have Toby with me. In fact, I think it would be good for you to live with an animal.  Who knows, you might even like having a pet.”

“As entertaining and affectionate as pets are, they all have one major flaw. They die.”  Molly stopped typing, stunned at his words. “So I’ll thank you for wanting to enlighten me on the joy of pet ownership,” he continued, “but I’ve been down that road before, and I’ll never travel it again.”

Molly gaped at him for a moment.  “Hang on.  You had a pet?”

Sherlock looked at her and then down at his hands.  “A long time ago.”

She closed her laptop.  “You. Had a pet.”

Sherlock looked hesitant to answer her. “Yes, I had a… I had a dog. It was a long time ago.”

“What type of dog?”

Sherlock looked up at her.  “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t particularly matter,” Molly said, as she set the laptop on the bedside table and shifted down onto her elbow.  “It’s just a surprise to find this out about you after all these years.”

“Why? Because I couldn’t possibly care for something other than myself?”

Molly thought for a moment. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Molly, I’m not completely cruel.  I care about the things that are important to the people in my life. I’ve fed Toby in the past to make sure he survives the night without you.”

“True.” Molly slid a little closer to him. “I guess I just figured that since you’re out of the house more than you’re in, and given your self-centered nature, that taking care of a pet would be beneath you.”

Sherlock scowled.  “You wound me.”

Molly’s eyes went wide.  “I didn’t mean to. I just said—”

“That I was too self-centered to care for a helpless creature. Just because I don’t like something doesn’t mean I would let it die.  I’m not so unfeeling, Molly.  I’m not fond of cats, but I wouldn’t purposefully harm Toby or let any harm come to him because I know you care for him.”  Sherlock sat up straighter.  “I’ve never been too keen on children, and yet you don’t see me treating little Susan with anything but kindness.  If someone were to threaten you or try to hurt you, I would risk my life to protect you.”

Molly sat up next to him.  “Sherlock, stop. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“But that’s what you think.”  He looked back at her, the hurt evident in his eyes. 

“I was talking about an animal.  I know – I _know_ that you would and have risked your life to protect your friends.  My God, Sherlock, you pretended to be dead for two years to protect them. You shot a man to protect them!”

Sherlock groaned.  “Can we please not bring that up?”

“And I have been very impressed with how good you are with little Susan. But they’re people, Sherlock. People, not animals. I would expect you to care for people. I didn’t expect to hear you not only cared for a dog but that you must have loved him so much and were hurt so desperately when he died that you’ve avoided making a connection with any other pet.”

“You sound like my mother.”

The comment caught Molly off guard.  “How so?”

“She tried to make me interested in another dog after… I mean she offered to get another one.  As if he could just be replaced.”  Sherlock turned and looked directly at Molly.  “Someday Toby will die.  It’s a fact that you will outlive your cat.  And you will cry and weep and moan and mourn the loss of his precious little paws walking all over you when you sleep.  But then after a time, you probably will do what every other person who says they love animals does. You will go and buy another cat to fill the void created by Toby’s loss.  You will fall in love with this new cat and eventually forget how much you miss Toby.  Well, I can’t do that. I’m sorry, Molly, but I don’t rebound in that way.  You’re very right in saying that Redbeard’s death affected me terribly and that I missed him desperately – so desperately that no other animal could take his place. And more to the point, I didn’t want to be hurt like that ever again.  I’ve often been accused of being heartless – you have even thought that way about me a time or two in the past.  Well, I assure that I do have a heart and that I do feel deeply. But I learned at a rather young age that feeling so deeply about a creature that will eventually die and leave you is too painful.  Why open yourself to such pain when it’s easily avoided?” 

Molly looked back at Sherlock, understanding him in a way she had never understood before.  “I think,” she said quietly, slowly, “that people open themselves up to that sort of pain because they know there will be years of joy and happiness long before they have to deal with the hurt. And the years of joy and happiness far out weigh the brevity of the pain.”

“Brevity?” Sherlock repeated.  “I find it difficult to believe that someone as sentimental as you would only briefly mourn the death of a pet while someone like me…”

It suddenly all became very clear to Molly.  Everything she’d ever thought about why Sherlock kept people at a distance made so much more sense now.  He had loved and lost a cherished pet in his childhood and had never fully been able to get over the pain of that loss.  In an attempt to never again feel that pain, Sherlock not only avoided animals, but he’d avoided making meaningful relationships. It spoke to his avoidance of sentimentality and methodical approach to life.  It spoke to his refusal to define relationships in the traditional sense. And it spoke volumes as to why he would do anything, even commit murder, to protect the people he did have relationships with.  But most importantly, it proved to Molly that regardless of what he might claim to be true, Sherlock did have the ability to love.  The problem was, he obviously hated feeling it and strove to avoid the emotion despite the moments of joy it could bring.   

“You said his name was Redbeard?” Molly asked. 

Sherlock took a deep breath.  “Yes."

“Why breed of dog was he?”

He pursed his lips before giving in.  “He was an Irish Setter.”

“Oh! Those are so beautiful!”

“He was a gorgeous animal.”

“What happened to him?”

Sherlock shrugged.  “He was old. One day my father took him to the vet and didn’t bring him home.  I was told the vet took him to a place for older dogs.  Now I understand that he was probably put to sleep.” Sherlock made a sour face. “Mycroft used to take the mickey out of me for it.”

“That’s horrible!” Molly took his hand in hers.  “Did you even get to say goodbye?” 

Sherlock shook his head.  “Mycroft still uses Redbeard against me as proof that caring only brings trouble.”

Molly didn’t like the sound of that at all.  “Well, Mycroft is a miserable, lonely son-of-bitch who can take all his money and power and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched up in a smile at the corners.  “Careful, you’ve just insulted my mother, and she’s asked to meet you.”

“Don’t change the subject.  We both know that Mycroft is jealous of the friends you have.  If he wasn’t he wouldn’t always be telling you to avoid us.”

“Us? Lumping yourself in with my friends, are you?”

Molly looked surprised.  “I’m your friend!”

“I rather think you are quite more than my friend, Molly.”

Molly smiled at him and brushed his cheek with her fingers. “Sherlock, I’m sorry about your dog. I really am.  I know Toby is a poor substitute, but I know he’s fond of you. You might grow to like him if you’re willing to allow him to stay when I’m here. 

Sherlock sighed.  “But you’re always here.”

“If you say so.” Molly shrugged and leaned in to kiss him. “Do your parents really want to meet me?”

“Well, considering that we’ve been officially dating for two months after sleeping together for about six months—”

“Sherlock!” Molly sat up.  “You didn’t tell your parents that, did you?”

“I didn’t, no.  Mycroft did. I think he thought it would get me in trouble, when actually it made mummy quite ecstatic.”

Molly shook her head.  “He can’t let anyone be happy, can he?  Do your parents think badly of me for it?”

“For what?”

“For…you know… sleeping with you.”

“I think they question your sanity taking me on with all my neurosis. After all, if anyone knows how difficult I can be to live with, it’s my parents."

Molly certainly heard the “live with” comment, but she didn’t draw attention to it.  “Well, if they’d like to meet me, I’d be happy to meet them.”

“Grand,” Sherlock said in a tone dripping with sarcasm.  “I’m so looking forward to it.”

“Don’t be that way.  I’m sure it will be fine.”  She rested her head on his shoulder.  "And you can meet my mum, too."

Sherlock stiffened, but didn't say a word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to what comes next??? I'm just curious. 
> 
> And in case you didn't know... reviews are LOVE!


	11. Habitat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just where exactly does Molly live???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, a huge round of applause goes to my beta reader, shopgirl909! Seriously, she's been AMAZING! 
> 
> Thanks also go to:
> 
> Always_annajane, Icecat62, Alyshaluz, Sherlockian_87, Bucky05, leidibrf, lilsherlockan1975 for comments!
> 
> Gwinny and Aworeley for the Bookmarks.
> 
> Mellmagee for the kudos!

11 – Habitat

“John was still holding the snifter with the poison brandy when the pistol slid across the floor and stopped at his feet.  He picked it up thinking it would be better to keep Mr. Sanders from grabbing it back up again rather than leave it on the floor and avoid getting his finger prints all over a second murder weapon.  And that’s how Grant found us.”

“Greg,” Molly corrected.

Sherlock continued his explanation from the bathroom where he was cleaning up.  “He walked in with John holding poison in his left hand and a gun in his right with me on the other side of the room covered in the blood of the man lying on the floor between us.  It’s a wonder Gary—”

“Greg.”

“— didn’t arrest us on the spot. As it was, he listened to our story, and three hours later, we were released.  But the whole time, I had to sit there in that bloody – and I mean blood covered, not damnable– suit.  Hence, the need for the shower.”

“I appreciate that!”

Sherlock came into the room looking tired but clean and slumped down onto the bed.  More precisely, he slumped down on top of Molly, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck and wrapping his arms around her body. Molly didn’t mind a bit and welcomed him by running her fingers up his back and into his damp hair.

“I take it I’ll find Mr. Sanders in my morgue tomorrow morning?”

Sherlock’s answer was a grunt.

“Having access to your tales of detective work sort of spoils the fun of cutting him up, taking out his innards, and figuring out how he died.”

Sherlock’s head came just enough to allow him to look at her.  “And that is why you are the perfect woman for me.”

Molly chuckled and then sighed in pleasure as Sherlock began dropping kisses over her neck and shoulders. He shifted enough to join her under the covers but stopped short of pulling her against him to continue his ministrations. 

“This is sexy little thing you’re wearing,” he said, admiring the silky rose-colored baby doll nighty that complemented her skin perfectly.

“I’m glad you like it. I bought it for you.”

“Indeed.”  He kissed her soundly, gently running his hand over her breast and hip.  “What is it that you want?”

“Huh?” Molly hummed.

“You’re scantily clad. What do you want?"

Molly tried to hide her surprise and masked it in confusion.  “What… what do you mean?”

Sherlock sighed and rolled onto his back. “You only ever buy those little things for me when you want something from me that I’m probably not wiling to give or when you’re going to tell me something that I’m probably not going to like.”

Molly, still feigning confusion, shook her head.  “No. No no…I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do.  You’ll wear something sexy to bed when I ask or when I’ve done something nice, but you only ever buy a new sexy something and claim it is for me when you have potentially bad news to impart.”

Still shaking her head, Molly said, “How… I mean… when have I…?”

“Well, the most recent example was that blue little teddy you donned the night you informed me you would be going out on that date.  With Clarissa. And then all hell broke lose.”

Molly thought for a moment. “No, I wore sexy undergarments after our third date.”

“Yes, and you wanted me to go to bed with you.”

“Which is what I want now.”

“But it’s different. I was trying to avoid sleeping with you then.  You wore the sexy undergarment to get me to do something you thought I wouldn’t do. Now I’m clearly ready to engage in intercourse, but you’ve chosen to enhance my desire with your choice in clothing… or rather the lack there of.  You obviously want me to do something you don’t think I will want to do, such as allowing you to date what I incorrectly assumed was another man. The first time you ever did this was when you first asked me to perform cunnilingus.  You chose a white lacy negligee that night, which I thought was interestingly virginal considering your request. So, what is it that you want from me that you believe I will find unpleasant?”

Molly frowned.  “You know, you are quite impossible sometimes.”

“I know, but you seem to want to keep me around regardless.”

Molly bit at her lip and hid her eyes, not knowing exactly how to say what she wanted to say.

“It’s rather like ripping off a bandage,” Sherlock offered.  “The longer you wait and the more slowly you go, the worse it will be. Best just say it and get it over with so we can move on with our lives.”

“Ok,” Molly sighed. “Just know that it’s fine with me whatever you choose.  I’m not asking to try to force you into something.  If you don’t like it, then it’s no big deal.  I just thought it might be better for both of us, unless you really don’t want to.  But, honestly, I’m ok one-way or the other.  I just wanted to put the option out there in case you might find it an interesting idea. And if you don’t, then really, it won’t hurt my feelings.  I just didn’t want you to—”

“Molly!” Sherlock said sharply. “Stop stuttering and just ask me.” 

She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.  “The lease is up on my flat.” 

She waited, looking into Sherlock’s pale blue eyes until understanding looked back at her. And then she worried for it took him a good ten seconds to say anything back to her.  

“You want to live here,” Sherlock stated.

“Well, I thought… maybe… I mean… I’m here most of the time anyway.  And we could split the cost.  I mean… I’m not trying to get you to pay for me… or… you know.  But if you don’t want to, then…”

“Why are you so skittish about this?” he asked, rising up on his elbow. 

She shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Probably because you like things just so, and you’re not too keen on sharing.”

“Yet my closet is consumed by more of your clothes than mine.  My bathroom cabinet is full of tampons and make up. And most shockingly, my bed is now occupied by a cat.”  He pointed down at Toby for emphasis.  “You already practically live here.  I can’t remember the last time you were even in your flat.  Why wouldn’t I agree to this?”

Molly felt giddy inside hearing Sherlock describe his flat in terms of her things without insulting her. “If I give up my flat, then this becomes my home.”

“Yes.  And?”

“Well…” She felt so silly having to state the obvious. “We’ll be living together.”

Sherlock’s brows were pulled together. “Yes.  And?”

“Well… doesn’t that… mean something?” Her heart was racing considering how Sherlock might respond.

“I believe it means that we _live together._ ”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but… it means… more.”

“How so?”

“Well, that we’re… you know… committed.”

Again, Sherlock looked back at her in bewilderment.  “I was under the impression that we’ve been ‘committed’ to each other for a while now. I know it’s only technically been three months since we started dating, but we’ve been exclusive since long before that. Is that not how you’ve interpreted our relationship?”

“No, it is.  It is.  I just didn’t know if you were up to… admitting… you know…”

“I told you,” Sherlock sighed, “that we are together.  Exclusivity begets commitment and vice versa, doesn’t it?”

Molly nodded.  “Right.  You’re right. Yes.”

“Of course, I’m right. So stop fidgeting and worrying and stuttering.” He slid his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. “Unless… you take issue with living together when we’ve only dated for three months.”

“Stop saying we’ve only dated for three months.  It’s been much longer.”

“Not according to you. You said so when we fought that you—”

“Sherlock, the way I see it, we’ve been together since the middle of February.  It’s nearly November.  That’s more than three months.  Plus all the years that we were friends.  And will you please stop reminding me of that horrible fight?”

“Very well.”      

“Ok, so then, I’ll move in officially next week.  We should tell Mrs. Hudson.”

“She won’t mind,” Sherlock said, kissing her quickly.  “I do need to know, however, how much of your furniture comes with you.”

“Oh, I have a corner cabinet piece that’s an antique that I’d like to keep.  It was my great-grandmothers.  And I have all of my medical books in my bookcase.  If you don’t have the shelf room for my books, then we can move the whole bookcase over here.  Otherwise, it’s just the books I want.  And I think we both like my sofa more than yours.”

“I do like your sofa,” Sherlock mumbled. “I’d rather sleep on your sofa than on your bed.”

Molly giggled.  “I know.  We’ve had sex on that sofa a few times. It’d be a shame to throw it out”

“We had sex on your bed, but I’m certainly not moving that thing in here.”

“So, then it’s the corner cabinet, the book case, and the sofa.”

“Agreed.”  He leaned in to kiss her.

“Oh!  And my dishes.  Yours don’t match.”

“Yes, fine.”  He leaned in again.

“Oh!  And my family pictures.  I’d like some mantel space.”

Sherlock hesitated a little, but then said, “Fine.”  He leaned in for a third time, and stopped.  “Is that all?”

“I think so.”  As if moving in together was a commonplace event and didn’t make her heart soar in happiness.

“May I kiss you now and take advantage of the sexy nightdress?”

She laughed as his mouth met her in a delicious kiss.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on their living arrangements? Shall I tease you?
> 
> Next chapter - Chapter 12: Addict


	12. Addict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Molly confronts Sherlock's addictions and finds that everyone has a vice.
> 
> Warning: mention of drug use and triggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're snowed in...again. So here's a chapter to pass the time. I had originally planed for a scene similar to this to happen after their fright about Molly's "date," but my wonderful beta talked me through things and made me realize what I wanted wasn't exactly in character. It worked much better this way. So I hope you like this regardless of the seriousness of the chapter.
> 
> That said, it is about drug use, so take that as a warning. 
> 
> Many thanks to:
> 
> Shopgirl909 for everything! For this chapter, for sticking to your guns, and to forcing me to keep them in character. You're an AMAZING beta!
> 
> Icecat62, gabriella_t, lehulei, Sherlockian_87, lilsherlockan1975 , MissMollyBloom, applejacks0808, leidibrf, and TheNewJefferson for comments!
> 
> Stormgurl and CecilxCarlos for the Bookmarks.
> 
> Ridiculosity and forthegenuine for the kudos!

12 – Addict 

Molly stared at the baggie in her hands in utter disbelief. Well, maybe not disbelief. This was Sherlock, after all, and he had done this before.  But it still hurt her to know he still did it and it broke her heart to know that he was keeping it a secret from her.  And it angered her that she’d been so oblivious to the fact that this was going on right under her nose. 

Determined to have her say, she marched into the bedroom where Sherlock was still asleep, despite the late morning sunshine, and shoved him on his shoulder

“Wake up,” she ordered.

Sherlock grunted. 

“Seriously, Sherlock, you need to wake up.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“This is what’s wrong.”  She tossed the baggie on the bed right by his face.

Sherlock glanced at it, exhaled slowly, and under his breath mumbled a soft, “Damn.”

Without waiting for an explanation, Molly snatched it up and stormed into the loo where she hastily flushed the contents of the bag down the toilet.

“Molly, stop!” Sherlock followed after her, but he was too late. He looked down at the swirling water washing away his powdery dependency.  “Will you let me explain?”

“You don’t need to explain.  I get the message very clearly.  I live here now, and I don’t want drugs in my house!”  Molly brushed past him and into the bedroom.

“But it’s my house, too.  It was mine long before it was yours!  I don’t go flushing your things down the toilet.”

“Right, because my things aren’t illegal, mind altering substances that will eventually kill me!”  She grabbed a bag out of the closet and began pulling clothes off the hangers.

“What are you doing now?” Sherlock’s anger was rising with his voice.

“I refuse to live with a drug addict.”

“Then you should have thought of that before you asked to move in here!”

“I didn’t know you were doing drugs!”

“I’m not doing drugs!  I’ve been completely clean for almost two years now, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am, and always will be, a drug addict - a fact I assumed someone with a medical degree would be well aware of.”

Molly stood still and looked at him in a mix of pain and anger. “If you’re clean, why do you have the drugs?”

Sherlock was still seething when he said, “I’ll explain myself once you’ve come to your senses and managed to put that heinously abhorrent bag away!”

She did as he asked and watched as Sherlock took a seat on the bed. She knew he wanted her to sit next to him, but she understood being that close to him would break down her defenses. She needed to keep her wits about her and not be persuaded by the close physicality of this man she so desperately loved.  Quite purposefully, sat down on the chair beside the bureau.  Sherlock glowered at her and shook his head. 

“The last time I used was just after Mary and John were married. I took a case that landed me in a bad place.  If you will remember, you took the liberty to slap me a few times over it and scold me like a child. But I swear to you, Molly, that was the last time I used, and I have regretted it so many times.” He took a deep breath and went on. “Before that, I hadn’t used for about three years.  I did smoke and develop a nasty nicotine addiction, but there were no drugs.  Honestly.  I used to believe that the drugs cleared my mind and helped me focus, but I eventually discovered that as annoying as I found the mundane world around me, blocking it out with the drugs was actually putting a damper on my work. I missed a few things that should have been very obvious, so I stopped using. It was hell on earth, but I stopped. I still crave it, but I somehow manage to remind myself that my work will suffer for it, which is exactly what happened when I started using again.  I missed the clues that should have told me Mary was more than what she seemed. I blame the drugs and my dependency on them for not seeing what was happening so that I could have stopped it. I swear, I haven’t used since then no matter how badly I’ve been tempted.  I even requested non-addictive pain killers in the hospital when I was shot.”

Molly didn’t know if she could believe him or not.  “And so what I found was left over from that time?”

“No, not exactly.  I bought that a few days after we had sex for the first time.  I was angry at how you tossed me out that I considered how nice it would be to completely take my mind off of your absurd behavior. John came over and shouted at me that it was probably my rudeness that caused you to react the way you did. He told me I should apologize to you about everything, which I did.” He paused and then emphasized, “I just bought it.  I didn’t use it.”

Confused and scared if she really wanted to know the answer, she asked, “Why did you buy it if you didn’t use it?”

“I fully intended to get high.  I mean, really, no one buys cocaine unless they intend on getting high. But I had John and Mary scolding me and telling me I shouldn’t.  They even brought Susan over, threatening me that I’d never see her again if I did what I intended on doing.”

“And that was the last time you were tempted?”

“No,” Sherlock said hesitantly.  “I was even more tempted when we had that horrid fight over your so-called date with Clarissa.  I couldn’t think clearly. Everything was a mess.  I couldn’t make sense of the situation and thought I should just dull my senses and stop thinking about things.  I was on the brink of shooting up when it struck me that I didn’t know the name of the chap you were dating.  I think you know the rest.”

Molly let it all sink in.  “Do you realize what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you I haven’t used in a very long time.”

Molly sat on the edge of her chair.  “No, you’re telling me that when you’re angry with me, you go and buy cocaine. And basically that it’s my fault you’ve been tempted to do drugs!”

Sherlock didn’t argue the point.  “Yes, but I don’t actually do anything.  I consider it, but I resist.  Often times, just holding it in my hands will help me remember my reasons for avoiding it. What would you suggest?”

“Did it ever occur to you that we could talk about things?”

“Right, because you’re so good at that – you who rushes in and starts packing a bag every time you don’t like something I’ve said or done!” His voice was sharp and piercing.

Molly looked down at the floor, embarrassed that he’d called her out on her behavior, ashamed that he was so very right.  She took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves. “I can’t be responsible for your drug use, Sherlock.”

“I never said that you were.  I started using when I was fifteen years old, Molly, long before I knew anything about you. Now, the clarity I once found from the coke is reminiscent of the clarity I find when I’m with you, but it is dull in comparison.  I’ve never been of a sounder mind than I have been since I allowed you into my life. That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted at odd occasions to use.  Take right now, for example.  A good, solid hit would make me feel much better right about now, but I’m coping without it. I have coped without it because I’ve had you to keep me sane, despite the insanity being in a relationship brings. In those instances when we’ve fought and I thought I’d lost you, yes, I was tempted to slip back into my old ways. I was tempted. But Molly,” Sherlock leaned forward with his elbows on his keens and looked directly at her, “consider how much you drank the last time we separated.”

Molly was mortified at the suggestion.  “Are you calling me an alcoholic?”

“Molly…”

“Are you calling me an alcoholic?!” she stood up and repeated with more force and aggression than before. 

“Why do you drink?”

“Drinking is very different from doing cocaine!”

Sherlock stood up.  “Why? Why do you drink? Isn’t it because the alcohol dampens the pain?  It lessens the stress you feel.  Releases your mind and lets you see the world in a different way.  Makes you less inhibited and more open to possibilities. Isn’t that why you drink?”

“But it’s not cocaine!”

“So your drug of choice is better than mine?”

She wanted to slap him, but resisted.  She wanted to cry, but fought back the tears.  “I’m not an alcoholic,” she said carefully.

“No, you’re not.” 

Molly gaped at him, shaking her head in confusion. 

Sherlock explained, “You don’t require alcohol to function. Your temperament doesn’t completely change when you go without it.  You don’t plan your day about when you will be able to take the next drink. I’m quite certain that if you had to go for the next 6 months without a drink, you could do it and be perfectly fine. You might be a little stressed and agitated, but you could do it.  Your body wouldn’t go through any sort of detox."

“Then why are we even fighting about this?”

“Because you’re angry at me for having a need for a fix when you yourself have a need for an occasional fix.  No, you’re not an addict, nor do I suspect you ever will be given the state of your aggression towards my own addiction.  But now, perhaps, you’ll understand my need for that fix and how easy it is to slip up.  You said that you refuse to live with a drug addict.  Well, darling, I can’t change the fact that that’s what I am.  I can’t change the fact that drugs call to me and tempt me and haunt me.  But I do try to stay clean for fear of losing my ability to work as well as losing the very people who help keep me from wanting the drugs in the first place.”

She considered long and hard what he was saying.  It was impossible for her to imagine her life without him, but she knew she would find it even more impossible to watch him destroy himself with drugs. “This is a deal breaker for me, Sherlock.”

“Meaning?”

“If I ever find any more drugs in this apartment… if I ever find out you’re high or you’ve been using… then I’m gone.  I won’t stay if there’s any drugs.”

She couldn’t tell what was going on behind Sherlock’s stone hard stare. She knew he was thinking and considering the options, but she didn’t know if he would accept another ultimatum or tell her to take her things and go. 

“I have a deal breaker, too, then.”

“Oh really?”  Molly crossed her arms, fearful of what he might say.  “No alcohol?”

“No. Your alcohol use isn’t what makes my blood boil.  My deal breaker is this; the next time you’re angry at me or feel as if I’ve betrayed you or hurt you or whatever, you tell me exactly what I’ve done and let me explain things in full before you start packing your bags.  So help me, Molly, the next time you accuse me of something and then run into the bedroom to start packing a bag without so much as a clear explanation, instead of trying to talk you into staying, I will help you finish. I’m not a perfect person, but neither are you.  We both have made mistakes along the way, but I feel as if I’m the one always fighting to keep you while you’re the one always on the brink of leaving.  I will say this once more, for good measure, and if it doesn’t sink in, then it’s not my fault.  I don’t want you to go.  I want you here. I want you with me. I need you with me. So stop threatening to leave me unless you honestly intend to end it once and for all.”

She could feel the well of tears forming in her eyes.  “I’m sorry.  You’re right, I should have let you explain.”

He nodded, “And I should have thrown out the drugs a long time ago. Which reminds me… where did you say you found it?”

“I didn’t,” she said, wiping at her eyes.  It was behind the loose edging of the mantle. I was putting up some of my things and bumped over a photo.  It hit the edge of the mantle and that etched wood portion came off.”

Sherlock hummed and walked into the living room and over to the far corner where he pushed the sofa towards the door.  He then began pounding on the floorboards until a portion came lose. “Given your promise to leave should you ever find any more drugs on the premises, I figure you might want to get rid of this as well.” 

He handed Molly an old, rusty box.  Opening the lid revealed not only another stash of coke but also random needles and syringes and paraphernalia used in conjunction with the coke. “What is _this_?” 

“That’s the rest of it,” Sherlock said putting the floorboard back in place. “I didn’t want you finding it and assuming I had bought more.”

She was appalled at what she was holding.  “When did you buy this?”

“I don’t remember.  I really don’t. Before I bought the other stuff.”

“Then why buy more?”

“Because part of the thrill of drugs is the buying process. So when I wanted a real kick, I went out and bought some new and fresh.  If I just needed a quick hit, I’d take from my hidden stash.”

Molly closed the lid and felt sick to her stomach.  “I’m getting rid of all of this.  I mean, good God, Sherlock, these needles! How could you…?” She tossed the box on the table and spun around to face him.  “Do I need to be tested?  Have you been tested?”

“I told you, I’m clean.”

“Clean as in not doing drugs or clean as in…”

“Clean as in both.  I wouldn’t risk your life in that way, Molly.  Believe it or not, I do care about you.”

She nodded and looked back down at the box.  “And this is all of it?”

“Yes. You have my word.”

Again the tears formed in her eyes.  “I know you think I’m reacting out of anger, but I’m not.  Not really.  I’m more frightened than anything, Sherlock.  I had to live two years with out you, and that was before I knew what it was to really have you in my life.  Two years I spent wondering and worrying and thinking the worst.  I didn’t do well.  I didn’t do well at all.  I mean… God… I went and found a look alike to try to help me cope!  I know what it is to be without you.  I don’t ever want to feel that way again. And the things in this box…they scare the shit out of me.”  Her voice broke as a tear fell down her cheek. 

Sherlock walked over to her and opened his arms.  “Permission to attempt to comfort the enemy?”

“Granted.” She let him hold her for a long while.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your reactions and thoughts. Reviews are love!
> 
> Next chapter... Definitions part 2... Which will not end the way Definitions part 1 did.


	13. Definitions - Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock discuss the definition and importance of a certain four letter word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday the 13th, so I'm offering up the 13th chapter! After the storm of chapter 12, I figured you could use something lighter. 
> 
> So many thanks to my amazing beta, Shopgirl909 who is under the weather this week. 
> 
> And special thanks to:
> 
> Nydamascus97, leidibrf, lilsherlockan1975, Icecat62, Sherlockian_87, LadydeBalliol, gabriella_t, and Alyshaluz for comments!
> 
> MaiaLonghorn, Jeruvian, LadybeBalliol, and LittleMadam2 for the kudos!

13 – Definitions take 2

It was always in the still, quiet of the morning that Molly took full advantage of the fact that she had Sherlock Holmes all to herself. He truly was an exceptionally handsome man to look at.  Even with his ice blue eyes hidden by his still sleeping eyelids, the shape of the eyes, the arch of his brow, the angle of his cheekbones all combined to make his face the most amazing face she’d ever seen.  There was no way she could resist brushing back the mess of black curls that tumbled over his forehead so that she could look at him more fully.

And that was just his face.  She hadn’t even started in on his body.  Right now, all she could see were his bare shoulders and arms.  It made her smile to see him wrapped up in the blankets, curled into a fetal like position, so at peace with the world that he had no idea her heart was about to burst out of her chest from love for him. She sighed and wondered what would ever happen if she ever found the courage to voice out loud what her heart had been screaming for so long.

“I love you, Sherlock,” she whispered as she once more brushed the stray curls back from his eyes.

And then the eyes opened and looked directly at her with total and complete awareness. 

“Oh no! Oh God!  I… you… I didn’t... I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I’m usually awake when you’re fondling my hair and examining my body.”

Molly was mortified.  “You’re usually awake? You know I do this?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “You act surprised to find out that I’m observant.”

“Observant, yes.  But not awake!”

“I’m a light sleeper, which you should also know.”

She shook her head in personal agony.  “I would never have said that if I’d known you were awake.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” and then she had to think of a good reason to offer him. _Because I know you think love is foolish? Because you hate sentiment and romance and everything that comes with love? Because I know you don’t feel the same way?_ She went with a less disparaging reason. “Because I don’t want you to make fun of me.”

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbow.  “Why would I make fun of you?”

Her eyes went wide.  “Because it’s love, Sherlock!  You always make fun of love affairs.  You hate love. You think it’s silly and _ridiculous._ ”  She imitated Sherlock’s voice on the last word. 

“I don’t hate love.  Why would you think that?”

“Because you do!  You never say it unless you’re making fun of people in love affairs.  You never admit to loving anything.  You won’t even say that we make love; it’s always sex and not love making.  You avoid the word at all costs unless it’s to belittle someone.  And here I’ve opened the door for you to just trample all over my heart by telling you the very thing you hate and make fun of.”

“First of all,” he said, sitting up a little more, “do you honestly believe I have been unaware of your feelings towards me?  That your admission of love is a surprise and something that’s caught me completely off guard?”

Molly thought for a moment.  “Well… I…”

“Molly, I’ve known how deeply you feel about me for quite some time now. All the rest of what you said, however, does explain why you haven’t stated your feelings openly until now. So, allow me to address the rest of it and put your concerns at ease.”

Molly didn’t know if she really wanted him to address the rest of it, but she didn’t think she had much of a choice but to hear him out.

“I don’t hate love.  At least, not in the way that you’re meaning.  I don’t take issue with the emotion so much as I do with the actual word. Our language is over saturated with love.  It’s over used, misused, and inappropriately used so much so that it has little to no value in regards to its proper meaning.”

“Hang on,” Molly interrupted.  “Over used? Love is over used?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head.  “Actually, Sherlock, love is quite rare and difficult to find, so I don’t see how you can say—”

“What does it mean?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Love. What does it mean? Define it for me and then I’ll explain my position.”

“Define love?” Molly frowned.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well… love is… being in love.”

He rolled his eyes.  “You can’t define the word with the word.”

“Ok,” she took a deep breath, afraid to actually put more ammunition in his pocket, for once she described exactly what she felt for him, he would be able to use it against her eventually.  “Love is devotion… and desire… and a need to be with someone.   It’s being affectionate and caring and compassionate and understanding.  And it’s sexual and lustful but also soft and gentle. It’s feeling attached to someone and being passionate and giving and…selfless.  It’s when you want someone to be the first person you see in the morning and the last person you see before you fall asleep and as much as you can in between.  It’s trust and hope and faith and knowing that there is someone always on your side. Even if that someone can make you angrier than you’ve ever felt before because they also make you happier than you’ve ever been.  And you can’t imagine your life without him – you don’t even want to imagine a life without him because he is everything to you and makes you feel complete and special and important.  And you feel that way about him because he’s special and important and wonderful. And you love him.” She wet her lips. “That’s love to me.”

Molly’s words hung in the air as a silent void filled the space between them. Sherlock took a deep breath, and Molly held on to her heart for fear of what would come next.

“I love these shoes,” he blurted out. 

Molly squinted back at him in confusion. 

“I l _ove_ this television program,” he said, emphasizing the word “love.”  “I _love_ chocolate. I _love_ my new computer.”  He took a moment to allow his meaning to set in.  “The word is over used.”

“That’s different,” Molly countered.  “It’s a different kind of love.  I was describing romantic love.”

“Possibly, but it’s the same word.  Most people use the word love when they mean to say ‘I admire the way these shoes look on my feet’ or ‘I find this television program to be quite enjoyable’ or ‘I prefer chocolate over vanilla’ or ‘I’m so pleased with how much better this computer functions over my old one.’  But instead they say they love these things.  And then they turn around and state that they love a person. Now tell me, Molly, when you proclaim that you love chocolate, as you have done so often in the past, are you really saying that you’re devoted or passionate or so enamored of the chocolate that you honestly can’t imagine your life without chocolate? Maybe so, but to state that you love chocolate when you really mean to say you _prefer_ chocolate belittles the meaning of the word when you turn around and state that you love me.”

“You are completely taking things out of context.”

“No, I’m actually thinking of it in context.  I’m looking at the definition of a word so powerful, and yet at the same time its almost meaningless.”

Molly sighed in displeasure.  “Which sort of proves my original point that you hate love.”

“That’s not it at all.  I just think that there are better words.  Everything you said, for example, about the way you feel about me, because, let’s be honest – you were speaking about your feelings for me – is a proper and true definition of how the word love should be used.”  He stopped a moment and then said, “And I actually take offence at the idea that I would never admit to feeling such things when I so clearly do.”

His comment startled Molly.  “What do you mean?”

“Given what you’ve said and how you are reacting, I can only presume that you believe I don’t feel these things for you.  That I don’t love you…in the way that you have defined it. And that offends me.”

Before Molly could object or explain herself, Sherlock pressed up against her side and ran his hand tenderly down the side of her face. “Do you not know that I am devoted to you?  That I desire you? Surely you realize that I lust after you and feel passionately towards you and need you in a most primal way. Have I not made it clear that I feel attached to you?  I’m so attached that were another man to even attempt to touch you, I would probably skin him alive. I’m so attached that I willingly had dinner with your mother.  Honestly, Molly, would I do that if it weren’t important to you?  And you have to know that I trust you.  I trust you with my life.  I’ve literally placed my life in your capable, beautiful, delicate hands.” Sherlock brushed a feather-light kiss across her mouth and said, “The fact that I live with you, and your cat, should tell you that you are the first person I want to see in the morning and the last person I want to see before I fall asleep.  And you know better than anyone that you can anger me faster than anyone and still make me immensely happy at the end of the day.”

He slid his leg between hers, now almost covering her body with his own. It didn’t surprise Molly to feel his desire pressed against her hip, but somehow it meant more now than it ever did before.  “I thought I had made it very clear that I can’t imagine my life without you, nor do I even want to attempt to imagine such a life.  For you are my life.  You, Molly Hooper, are the center my universe orbits around.”  He ran his thumb over her bottom lip.  “Now, I ask you to again tell me how I hate love.  How I think it’s silly and ridiculous.  How I’ll never admit to loving anything.  Because anything other than an admission of knowing how deeply I feel for you is a complete and utter lie.”

Heart hammering away in her chest, Molly wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down for a long, hard kiss. 

He broke away to look down at her.  “Just in case I haven’t been clear – in case you’ve misunderstood or you’re still uncertain as to my meaning, which often happens where you and I are concerned – listen very closely.”  His voice was soft and deep and rumbled against her belly in a way that turned her insides into a puddle of goo.  “Molly Hooper, by your definition, I love you, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Exchange... and it does NOT take place at Baker Street! Any guesses?


	14. Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly exchange more than just gifts for Christmas. Ahem. Wink - wink - nudge - nudge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the steamiest the fic will get, so I hope you like it. ::blush:: 
> 
> It might be a little while before the next chapter. My wonderful beta, shopgirl909, has been under the weather! So well wishes to her to get feeling better! The fic can wait. Trust me, she has pushed the story to be so much better than I originally had it, so you don't want me posting without going through her! 
> 
> Additional thanks to:
> 
> lilsherlockan1975, gabriella_t, applejacks0808, Iris_Reid92, Sherlockian_87, small, LadudeBalliol, leidibrf, tobetheone, Icecat62, MissMollyBloom, Mandy95, Alyshaluz for the comments!
> 
> Somethingtreeish, Pegacorn_Princess, kayleklee, dmdiane, minthegreen, pinta575, and Iris_Reid92 for the kudos!
> 
> Notjustmom and kaylekee for the Bookmarks!

14 – Exchange

She could hear the water running as Sherlock finished up in the bathroom. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, admiring the necklace Sherlock had given her, before getting into the bed. 

“When mummy took out my single sized bed and replaced it with a larger one, I thought she was being silly,” Sherlock said, coming into his childhood bedroom. “But now I see the logic in her presumptions and am glad she had the foresight of possible double accommodations.”

“You really never thought you’d have a…” Molly rethought the word. “…a significant other.”

Sherlock smiled at her, took off his dressing gown, and climbed into the bed next to her.  “No. I didn’t.”

She unknowingly played with the pendant dangling around her neck.

“Did you really like it?” Sherlock asked, looking down at the necklace.

“It’s perfect,” Molly said in complete honesty. 

“When Mary suggested jewelry, I initially scoffed at the idea. A mocking search through Google of heart shaped necklaces uncovered that little prize.  Once I saw it, I couldn’t resist.”

“Only you would buy an atomically correct heart shaped diamond necklace as a Christmas gift,” Molly chuckled.

“Only you would wear it and say it was perfect!”  He kissed her soundly. 

“Well, I hope you liked your gift,” she said.

Sherlock began kissing at her neck right behind her ear.  “Again.  Perfection.”

She tried to keep focus, but Sherlock’s kisses were making it difficult. She considered how he might eventually use the microscope with the phone adaptor she had given him, and then wondered what his parents’ thought of it all.

“Do you think your parents liked their gift?”

“I believe,” Sherlock said still kissing her neck, “that you could have given them dead frogs and they would have appreciated it.”

“Dead… what?”

“You’re here,” he said with another kiss.  “You came with me to my parents’ home for the holiday,” he kissed her again. “Getting me to visit is one battle. But my mother was about to dance the hully gully when I said you would come with me.”

Molly smiled brightly.  “So they like me, then?”

Sherlock kissed her neck on the other side.  “They adore you.”  His teeth nipped at her earlobe.  “As do I.”

Molly hummed in satisfaction.  “What were you talking about with your mother after dinner?  You were gone for so long, I was ready to send out a search party.”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” he said, and planted a kiss on her mouth before returning his focus to her neck.

“I just…”

His hands found her breasts, and Molly suddenly lost the ability to think about Christmas gifts and mysterious conversations. His fingers teased at the tips of her breasts still covered by the satin nightdress she had chosen to wear to bed.  The sensation his fingers created coupled with the way his mouth and tongue nuzzled and caressed the sensitive skin at her neck behind her ear sent shivers down her whole body.

“This is my favorite part on your body,” he said against her throat. “Your skin smells so wonderful. I could devour you.” If that’s what he wanted, she wasn’t going to stop him. 

Sherlock took his time at her neck but eventually kissed a path down to her chest where he began worshiping the tops of her breasts.  “I recant my former statement,” he mumbled against her skin. “This is my favorite part on your body.” He dropped kiss after sensual kiss all along her décolletage, making Molly moan in pleasure and anticipation. His hands molded her breasts and caressed along the line of her hips.  Up and down he stroked the curve of her hip back up to her breast while continuing the deliciously torturous ministrations of his kisses against the exposed skin.

“You are so soft,” his deep voice rumbled between her breasts. “So warm.”  The timber of his voice caused Molly’s insides to quiver. “So exquisitely female.” His hands and mouth could work wonders, but the low resonance of his voice expressing passionate thoughts always made her come undone.

He slid a little lower until his head was resting on the supple softness of her belly.  “My God, Molly,” he murmured, pushing up her nightdress so he could reach the skin hidden underneath. Once found, he kissed her stomach just above her panty line and around her belly button.  “Perhaps this is my favorite part of your body.”

Molly writhed under his touch, the tension coiling within her. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and tugged slightly to bring his face up where she could kiss him properly.  Sherlock obliged, fitting himself against her as his tongue danced with hers. Molly opened to him, body and soul, welcoming every touch, every kiss, every word. 

“You are so beautiful,” Sherlock said against her mouth.  “So beautiful.”  When his hand found its way between her legs, some semblance of awareness snapped into Molly’s brain.

“We can’t do this here, Sherlock,” she whispered. 

“Oh, yes we can,” he chuckled darkly, cupping her and pressing his palm against her heat. 

“Your parents are in the next room.”

“Yes, and they are very aware that we live together and have a sexual relationship.” His fingers stoked her and teased her. "Where's your sense of adventure? Of danger?

A moan floated out of her, and she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Instead of resisting, she gave in and arched her hips up in a welcoming gesture of desire.  Sherlock removed her pants and began caressing and teasing her with soft circles.  His mouth kissed her lips in a rhythm that matched the stroking of his fingers. Molly reveled in the tension building in her belly and wanted Sherlock to share in the pleasure. Her hands worked their way under the waistband of his pajamas to find he wasn’t wearing anything beneath.

“Surprise,” he said with a wicked smile, and helped her remove the unwanted garment.

Molly took him in her hands and guided him into her body.  The motion was fluid and gentle and slow. Bracing himself above her, Sherlock said, “Look at me, Molly.”  Her eyes met his. “Look at me as I fill you.” His thrust was deep and powerful. “I want you looking at me as I take you.” He moved inside of her with strength and surety. 

The passion coiled inside her with each stroke of his body against hers. She could feel the building tension at her center with every motion.  His eyes never left hers as he moved again and again, harder and harder, driving her into oblivion. She cried in pleasure as he dove deeper and deeper into her soul.  Faster and faster, higher and higher.  Until the coil was wound so tightly in her belly that she could no longer resist the cry of ecstasy being pulled from her chest. 

“Look at me, darling” he said again.  “Come with me.”  His thrusts were quick and hard and brushed against her in the most sensitive, sensual way. “Come with me, Molly.”

She succumbed, and the glory of the release left a long, slow spiral of tingling pleasure from the tips of her breasts all the way through her core. Sherlock’s hips stilled, his back arched as he emptied himself with a restrained shout of ecstasy.  He moaned and sighed and slowly, carefully lowered himself to lie on top of her. 

Completely spent, the only sound in the room came from their ragged breathing. Molly could feel Sherlock’s heart pounding in his chest and knew her own heart was working equally as hard. As their breathing slowed, Molly took the liberty to weave her fingers through his glorious tangles. “I love you,” she mumbled.

“Likewise,” he said, nuzzling his face against her breast. 

She hummed in response, enjoying the way his weight felt on her body.

“I tried to be quiet,” she breathed. 

“So did I, for your sake.  But honestly, I really don’t care who hears the pleasure we bring to each other.” 

She smiled, and kissed his shoulder. 

“Do you believe me now?”

She turned her head to look at him.  “About what?”

“That I do love you,” he said, and then added, “by your definition.”

His words meant more to her than the lovemaking had.  For she knew that’s what he had done.  This hadn’t been sex; Sherlock had made love to her, and his own words confirmed the fact.

“Yes.” She kissed him. “Yes.”

His head dropped back to her shoulder, and she allowed herself to relax fully against her pillow.  Her eyes slid closed as she started to drift off to sleep.

“No, you don’t.” The rumble of his voice against her ear brought him into focus. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

He rose up on his elbows and dropped a tantalizingly delicious and needful kiss on her mouth.  With slow and careful precision, Sherlock began circling his hips.  Still joined intimately, Molly could feel his arousal returning and growing. The passion built once again until Sherlock had brought them to the edge of bliss a second time. Molly squeezed him and met his movements, which sent them both over the cliff and falling into the rapture of the moment.

When their hearts had eventually returned to a normal rhythm and their breathing had slowed, Sherlock rolled over, bringing Molly with him so she could rest on top of him.  “Sorry if I squished you,” he said quietly. 

“For the record,” she said, unable to keep her eyes open, “you can squish me any time you’d like.”

The last thing she registered before falling asleep was Sherlock’s light but satisfied laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the gifts really exist. Seriously!  
> Here's a link to Molly's necklace:
> 
> http://www.aghalo.com/large-sterling-silver-anatomical-heart-necklace/
> 
> And here's Sherlock's Microscope Smart Phone Adapter. 
> 
> http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/best-gifts-2014-science-geeks-space-biology-chemistry-180953445/?no-ist
> 
> Next chapter... Diagnosis.


	15. Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a discovery about Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to...
> 
> my fabulous beta reader, Shopgirl909, who not only fixes mistakes but forces me into the best story possible!
> 
> Sherlockian_87, Mandy95, lilsherlockan1975, leidibrf, Alyshaluz, Krystal, Icecat62, and o0katiekins0o for the comments!
> 
> Cjmoon, shel_is_awesome, monki3lov3r101, and Pegecorn_Princess for the kudos!

Diagnosis

“So here I thought I was going to open this man up and find the heart and lungs all diseased, but really what I think killed him was that beautiful tumor in his brain!”

Molly smiled as Sherlock walked into the room and discarded his dressing gown.

“I’d love to see it,” he said, “if I’m allowed to have a look. I’d even like to have a peek at the diseased heart and lungs.” He kissed her quickly as he joined her in bed.

“Dixon already did the tumor removal, so there isn’t much to see now.”

“Oh, no,” Sherlock groaned. “He probably destroyed the brain in the process with his clumsy fingers. How that man ever became employed is beyond me.”

“He’s not that bad,” Molly said, winding her arms around Sherlock’s middle.

“You’re too kind, Molly. The man is virtually incompetent, especially compared to your brilliant skills. Why would you ever allow him the pleasure of removing a grand tumor from a brain? I would make a better pathologist than that moron.”

Molly chuckled, “You’re just partial.”

“Yes, but my partiality towards your work is founded on your superior skills as a pathologist and your steady hand. It has nothing to do with how excellent a lover you are.”

Her eyes went wide. “I’m an excellent lover?”

He furrowed his brow. “Molly, I wouldn’t be so desperate for you if you didn’t constantly amaze me with your particular talents, both in the lab and in the bedroom.”

She laughed again and kissed him, fitting herself against his body suggestively. “You’re so morbid. We’re probably the only couple in all of England who uses talk of brain tumors and diseased hearts as part of our foreplay.”

“Whatever works,” Sherlock said, kissing her neck and adjusting her pelvis more securely against his own.

“Wait,” Molly said. “Hold that thought.” She jumped out of bed and darted to the loo.

“Where are you going?”

“Be right back!” she called.

“You just went five minutes ago,” Sherlock observed. “Are you all right?”

A moment later, she joined him in bed again. “Sorry, must have had too much to drink tonight.”

“Only two glasses of wine,” he said, shifting his body so they were back in the previous position.

She shrugged and resumed kissing him. “You’re a pretty damn good lover yourself.”

“Sorry? Oh! Are we back to that?”

She giggled. “Can’t you keep up?”

“Honestly, Molly, I’m not interested in talking.” He proved it by moving his hands to her breasts.

“Unless it was about your favorite diseased organs and my ability to allow you access to them.”

Sherlock stopped and looked at her. “Do you think you could get me some? And I mean the good diseased organs, like hearts and lungs and brains. All I seem to be able to get are toes and eyes and tongues.”

“What would you give me?”

“What would you want?”

“To keep my job!” she teased. “Really, Sherlock, if I gave you random body parts – especially the good ones – I’d get fired! And then you’d be stuck working with Dixon on your autopsy reports.”

“God forbid! I’d probably kill him.”

Molly bit her lip.

“I was joking.”

Molly hummed.

“A proper Valentine’s Day.”

Sherlock tilted his head.

“That’s what I want. A proper Valentine’s Day.”

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t provide a proper Valentine’s Day without the wager?”

“Because I know you, Sherlock. You don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Then I suppose the reservations for two I made at the Blueprint Café for February fourteenth are of no consequence.”

She stared wide-eyed at him. “You made reservations for Valentine’s Day already?”

“You see, Molly, while you claim to know me so well to state that I would never give in to sentiment, I say that I claim to know you so well that were Valentine’s Day to arrive without some sort of gesture from me to honor our relationship, I would be forced to sleep on the couch rather than in your arms. So yes, because restaurants fill up rather quickly on this pagan day of romance, I have made reservations for Valentine’s Day.”

She wasn’t going to cry. No she wasn’t. Sherlock might have given into sentiment for a moment, but he wouldn’t tolerate her tears over it. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“Now, can we just stop talking altogether and resume our love making, please?”

She couldn’t resist him, especially since he’d started calling it making love. It didn’t happen often, but every now and then he’d say it, and her heart would soar. He kissed her neck, the base of her throat and the tops of her breasts, all the while caressing and teasing her in that oh so sensual way. Even through her nightshirt, he found the peeks of her nipples and masterfully began stimulating them to the point where she writhed under his touch. His hand cupped her… and stopped. Even his kisses stopped.

“What’s wrong,” she asked.

Sherlock was looking at her breast, running his hand around it and over the shape. “Just… looking…” He skimmed the nipple, and Molly groaned. His eyes darted to her face. “Molly…”

“Don’t stop. Please,” she sighed.

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She looked at him to find his attention back on her breast. “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry. I… got distracted.”

They resumed their love making, which was slow and delicate and rather tender, all things considered. Sherlock usually liked to be much more aggressive and demanding, but Molly certainly didn’t mind this soft and gentle side of his personality. When it was over and they were both satisfied, Sherlock pulled her so that she could lie on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked softly.

She hummed an affirmative, and then slid out from under the covers. “Sorry, be right back.” She darted to the loo and quickly returned.

“Sorry, that wine just went right through me!” She climbed back in and snuggled up against him, enjoying the fact that he would allow her to snuggle even though she knew he didn’t always care for it. It wouldn’t last all night, but she would take the space on his shoulder for as long as he would let her have it. “Remind me not to drink so much before bed,” she said kissing his skin.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “Molly, what would you say to… a request that you… refrain from drinking for a while?”

She chuckled. “Why?”

“Just… a request.”

She looked at him until he turned his face so that she could see his eyes. “Are you still worried I’m going to turn into an alcoholic?”

“No,” he stated. “That’s not a worry.”

“Then why should I stop?”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Well, if you’re having such difficulty holding your drink that you have to run to the loo every five to ten minutes, perhaps you should cut back and see how it goes without the drink.”

“Ok,” she said reluctantly. “I guess. I’ll give it…”

“A month.”

“A week.” They had spoken in unison.

Molly’s gaped at him. “A month!?” she said. “I don’t know if I can go a month without wine.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?”

“Only if you go a month without a nicotine patch.”

Sherlock shook his head. “It’s different for me. I truly am an addict.”

“I’ll go without my vice if you’ll go without yours.”

Sherlock let out a long, slow breath. “Fine.”

“Ok then.” She rested her head back down on his shoulder, perplexed at his request but interested to see how well he would do. “Shall we make a wager as to who can last longer? Loser performs oral sex on the other?”

“Molly,” Sherlock said with a low chuckle, “you don’t have to win a wager for that. If you want oral sex, all you need to do is ask. I’ll happily oblige.”

“Are you admitting that I’ll win, then?”

Sherlock thought a moment. “Not for a moment. The game, my dear, is on. We will settle the score on Valentine’s day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter... 16: Mistake
> 
> Any guesses as to what that mistake is????


	16. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly's assumptions about how Sherlock will react to her news are very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long! This chapter has been rewritten so many times, I'm not totally sure I've got it right just yet. But here we go. It might be a few weeks till the next chapter, so please don't abandon me! I promise to finish the story.
> 
> Thanks go to:  
> My beta, Shopgirl909, for reading rewrite after rewrite of this and other scenes. 
> 
> Cordelia, o0katiekins0o, Krystal, Sherlockian_87, applejackso8o8, incredibad, and Alyshaluz for the comments!
> 
> Cs90 for the kudos!
> 
> Sadieblu72, Mette123, and cs90 for the Bookmarks.

16 – Mistake

The roll of her stomach had Molly gagging.  As carefully as was possible, she slid out from under the warm covers and away from Sherlock’s sleeping form to dart to the loo and relieve her disagreeing stomach of the dinner she had eaten last night.  Just as she had done around this time for the last four nights. Or mornings, given it was after three. 

She rinsed her mouth out and tip toed back to her side of the bed. As she lifted to covers to crawl back under, Sherlock’s voice rumbled in the darkness. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound startled.  “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

She laid down with her back to him and closed her eyes. 

She felt him shift on to his back.  Then she heard him sigh.  A few moments later, she heard him hum ever so softly. 

“Go to sleep, Sherlock,” she whispered.

“I’m having difficulty.”

“Why,” she asked through a yawn.

“Because I’m very perplexed and not exactly sure how to proceed.”

“What’s confusing you?”

“Well, you see…”  He cleared his throat. “I have a…a client that has left me in a bit of a conundrum.”

Molly sighed.  “I’m not sure I have the mental capacity to hear about your clients this early in the morning."

“Honestly, neither do I.  I’ve actually been kept awake for the past several nights pondering the situation and what I should do about it.  I’d like to figure it out and eventually get some sleep, but it has me confounded.”

Molly knew he would keep talking, so instead of complaining to him, she decided to turn onto her side and try to focus on his story.  “What’s the problem, Sherlock?”

“Well, you see, this client has… well, lets say there is a secret. The client hasn’t yet told me about the secret even though I already know what the secret is. I’ve known for a while now, but the client is operating as if I don’t know.  Now, given that the client knows me rather well and knows what I do, it should be apparent that I know what the secret is.  The client should know that I know what’s going on.  However, since the client hasn’t said anything to me, I’m left pondering why and how I should proceed.  Is the client testing me to see if I can figure it out and be the one to mention it first? Or does the client actually think I am unaware of the situation because the client wants to be the one to tell me when the time is right?  Or, most worrisome of all, does the client just not want to tell me at all?

 Molly had the feeling she was treading in quick sand as she said, “Maybe the client just isn’t ready to talk about it.”

 Sherlock turned his head and locked eyes with her.  Even though it was dark, Molly could still make out the shape and intensity of his eyes.  “It's a possibility , but why?” he said softly.

Her heart hammered away in her chest as she stared into his cool, perceptive eyes and felt the sting of tears forming behind her own eyes. “Oh God,” she mumbled. “It’s me, isn’t it? The client.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh, God!  You know! You know!”  She moaned and covered her face with her hands.

“Of course, I know,” Sherlock confirmed.  “I’ve known for a while, and would have kept up the pretense of not knowing had it not been for your habitual excursions to the toilet to vomit.”

“Excuse me for needing to vomit,” she said from behind her hands.  

“You’re allowed to vomit.  I’ve just grown concerned about the frequency.  That’s why I’ve broached the subject.  Forgive me if I’ve spoiled your plans.”

“I’ve been trying to make plans, but I’m just not ready.”  She wiped at her eyes and sat up in the dark. “I’m just so, so, so not ready.”

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbow.  “I’m far from an expert, but I don’t think anyone’s ever ready for this. For what, specifically, do you feel unprepared?”

“For this,” she motioned with her arms between them. “Us. For it to be over.”

“Why would it be over?”

She’d thought so much about what she would say to him in this moment. She had argued it out dozens of times in her own head.  She knew how he felt and what his opinions were.  She had come up with an answer or a suggestion for how to handle every scenario or complication that came along.  What she intended to do now was to hold him off on every point and get it all out in well fell swoop. There was no point to dragging it out when it was sure to end so badly.  Like Sherlock had said a while back, it’s like a Band-Aid.  Best to just rip through it quickly to minimize the pain as much as possible. 

 With tears falling freely down her cheeks, she looked at him and said, “I won’t have an abortion, Sherlock.”

 Sherlock sat straight up.  “What?!?!”

 “I won’t!  I can’t! I just can’t do that. I love you so very much, but I want this baby!”  With eyes adjusting to the darkness, she could see Sherlock gaping at her, his brow furrowed in anger. “I know it’s not what you want. I know you didn’t ask for this. I didn’t plan it, either, but it’s happened, and I won’t get rid of it.  I can’t! I want this too much.”

 Sherlock moved away from her, placing himself more to the middle of the bed so that they were now sitting face to face.  He shook his head, ran his hands through his hair, and once again said, “What?!?!” The word was crisp and solid and piercing. “How… why… I… I…” He shook his head again. “Why would you get rid of it?”

 “Because that’s what you told me to do.”

 “When?” he gasped. “When have I ever told you to get an abortion? This is the first conversation we’ve had about this!”

 “No, it’s not. The first time we ever had sex, you told me to take the morning after pill.  You said, ‘A baby would be most unwelcome,’ I remember it with perfect clarity!”

 Sherlock’s jaw literally hung open.  “That was the first time we had ever been intimate!  A child most certainly would have been unwelcome at the time. I thought I’d never have sex with you again.  I stupidly assumed a one off would do the trick, but I was wrong.  But now… Hell!  It’s been nearly a year since then, Molly.  Do you honestly feel our relationship is in the same place today that it was a year ago? Have we made no progress?”

 She gasped out a few sobs.  “This isn’t about our relationship.  It’s about a baby!”

 “A baby conceived from our relationship!”

 “You don’t want a baby, Sherlock,” she said very matter-of-factly. “You’ve even said you aren’t fond of children.”

 "So naturally, I’d want you to kill it!”

 She felt as if she’s been punched in the gut.  “That’s what you had said,” she repeated. “And you’re very liberal minded.”

 “Being liberal minded doesn’t mean I’d want you to kill our child! I feel a woman should have the right to an abortion, should that be the best decision for her. But even having said that, the morning after pill isn’t really an abortion.  It’s very different from an actual abortion, Molly.”

 “It’s still getting rid of a baby.  And Sherlock, you have never given any indication that you’d want a child.”

 His brows furrowed together. “No, but I’ve never been presented with one of my own. While this certainly wouldn’t have been my first choice had I been given the option, I’m willing to confront it and deal with it now that it’s happened.”

 “That’s just it, Sherlock!” Her voice cracked as her sorrow was replaced momentarily with anger.  “I don’t want you to have to deal with it.  You don’t have to deal with it.”

 Sherlock stared at her. “Of course I’ll have to deal with it. It will be here in my home.”

 “But it doesn’t have to be,” she said through tears.  “I can go.”

 Sherlock’s eyes went wide.  “Go? You’re… you’re leaving?”

 “Yes, so you won’t have to deal with it” Molly said, her breath hitching and making little hiccuping sounds through her tears.  “I won’t force you to be a father when it’s not what you want. So, I’ve started looking for a place to go.  I asked Meena, and she said I could stay for a few days or a week or so.  I considered going to my mum’s, but she lives so far out that I’d never make it to work and back, and I can’t lose my job now.  I need my job. I thought if I could just hold off from telling you for another week, I’d have it all settled where I was going. And… and… I’d have it all planned and you wouldn’t have to give me anything.  I won’t ask anything of you.  I won’t… I won’t ask you for help or support.  You don’t have to worry that I’ll come begging you for money or that I’ll—”

 “Stop!” Sherlock barked at her.  “Stop it!”

 Molly looked back at him with wide, troubled eyes.  “I just didn’t want to force this on you.”

 “I said to stop it!” he ordered, pulling away from her.  “I can’t…”  He looked at her, shook his head in apparent disgust, and said, “I can’t even process this. I mean, my God, I actually feel nauseated.”  Throwing back the covers, he stomped out of the room. 

Molly sat very still in the dark, listening to the water running in the bathroom and trying to determine just what was happening.  She expected Sherlock to be angry about her pregnancy, but she didn’t expect him to be so incensed over her solution, which she had agonized over for days trying to find the best way for them to both get what they wanted. She knew from the way he charged back into the bedroom that she had been very wrong. 

 “Let me make sure I’m understanding you correctly.  You believe that after a year together – after a year where we’ve been intimate, both sexually and emotionally, where we’ve begun living together and sharing family holidays together, where we’ve declared our love for each other - that upon discovering you’ve become pregnant I would demand that you have an abortion. If you would refuse to have an abortion, then I’d just kick you out.  I’d show you the door and toss you out without any place to go.  I’d leave you alone for the duration of the pregnancy, not caring one way or the other if you’re doing well.  I’d never want to even see the child.  I’d wash my hands of you and the child never to see you or the child, leaving you alone and abandoned. Because that’s the type of person I am. That’s the monster you think I am!”

 “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

 “Really, Molly?  All evidence to the contrary!  Only a monster would tell you that you either had to abort the child or you’d be kicked out and abandoned with no support or contact for the rest of your life.”

 Molly covered her face with her hands.  “I thought it would be easier for you if I offered to go.”

 “Why would that be easier on me?!” He shouted.  “When have I ever said I want you to go?  I’ve tried over and over again to convince you that I want you here with me.  Yet you keep walking away or threatening to leave.  That’s not what I want!  That’s never been what I want! I don’t want you to go, Molly! I don’t want you to leave. I want you here. I do not want you to go!” His voice rang through the apartment. “I don’t know how else to say that. I don’t know any other way to get that through to you.  I don’t want you go!” He pounded on the foot of the bed. “I don’t want you to go! I have never wanted you to go!”

 Molly cried into her hands, unable to withstand his need for her in the face of his anger.  She felt the bed dip and looked through her fingers to see him sitting on the end of the bed with his back to her.  He was breathing heavily from the outburst of emotion. 

 “Had you said,” Sherlock continued softly, “that you wanted to leave because you felt I was unfit to parent a child, that would be quite different. Had you said, ‘Sherlock, you’re argumentative, self-centered, conceited, opinionated, difficult – not the right person to be raising a child – _that_ I could believe.  I could believe that you wouldn’t want my influence on a child’s life. I could believe that you feel I’m completely the wrong person for the job.  But that’s not what you said.  You said you would leave because _I_ want you to go.  And that, my dear, is simply untrue.”

 He turned to look at her.  “Know this now. I will not stop you if you want to go. I told you several months ago that I wouldn’t stop you.  But I will not have it be said that I was the one who told you to leave.”  His voice was soft but firm.  “If you leave, Molly, it will be by your own choice. And I will be a part of this child’s life.  I will not have my child raised believing that I want nothing to do with him or her. I will be known to my own child. You said you didn’t want to force me into fatherhood.  Well, given the fact that you are pregnant with my child makes me a father regardless of what either of us wants.  I am the child’s father whether you live with me or not.”

 She wiped at her face, sniffling and feeling like a puffy, red mess. “I don’t want to go.”

 “Then why even say such a thing to me?”

 “Because I didn’t want you to feel like you were being forced to change.”

 “You have never forced me to do anything.  Never.”  Sherlock stood and went to get Molly a tissue box, which she gladly accepted. “In fact, when you look at things properly, it could be argued that I’m the one who has forced you. I’m the one who first pressed you against a wall and started taking off your clothes.  I’m the one who wheedled his way back into your bed when you kicked me out.  I’m the one who manipulated you and begged you and did everything in my power, including moving your things into this apartment, just so I could keep you.  I have never slept with you without fully wanting to sleep with you.  I have never been forced to do anything when it comes to you and this relationship. I have always been a ready and willing participant.”

 “But that’s sex.  This is a baby.”

 “Molly, so help me, if you truly believe after all this time that our relationship is only based on sex, then maybe you really should go!”

 She gulped a hefty sob.  “I know it’s not… I mean… you said you’ve been a ready and willing participant sexually.”

“More than sexually! We live together!  I moved your things over here! I did!  I went to your flat and moved them over here.” He pointed at himself for emphasis.

 “But that wasn’t moving in together. I asked you for that. You didn’t offer it.”

 “No, because I didn’t think you wanted to live with me. I didn’t want to push you into something.  I just wanted to give you a little nudge.  I thought you found this flat too cluttered and wanted to keep a place of your own to escape to, which, judging from this very conversation, you probably regret letting it go!”

 “You know,” she sniffed, “things would be a lot simpler if you would just tell me what you want from me.”

 “My sentiments exactly!” He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “So tell me, Molly, what do you want?”

 “I want to stay here,” she said in a high-pitched voice.

 “Then stay here!”

 “But it’s a baby, Sherlock.”

 “You keep saying that as if I don’t know what a baby is. I’m not a complete moron. I have watched Susan grow and played with her and cared for her.  She is my Goddaughter.  I’m not so completely oblivious to how this works.”

 “I know!  I know!” she said quickly. “I’m just trying to wrap my brain around the idea of you wanting a child.  I mean, do you really want this?”

 “Well, I certainly prefer keeping it to any other options. And I feel my behavior these last few weeks proves that I care for the welfare of the child.”

 Molly tilted her head.  “Behavior? What do you mean?”

 “Well, I’ve removed all traces of citrus smells from the flat because I know it will make you vomit which isn’t good for you or the baby. I’ve stopped bringing you coffee at Barts because the caffeine isn’t good for the baby, and you won’t drink it anyway.  And most importantly, I’ve protected the child for the last few weeks from possible alcohol poisoning.  But I suppose that isn’t proof enough that I could possibly want and care for this child.”

 “Wait. Hang on.”  Molly sat up very straight.  “What are you talking about? Alcohol poisoning?”

 “Your drinking.  I made a bet with you so that you would stop drinking.”

 Molly’s heart skipped a beat.  “You made that bet long before I knew I was pregnant.”

 “Yes, of course.  You didn’t yet realize your were pregnant, but your increasing breast size and sensitivity coupled with the fact that you had to urinate every ten or fifteen minutes from the additional pressure on your bladder clued me in that you were pregnant. Then came the aversion to citrus smells, the avoidance of coffee, and I believe you’ve developed a craving for nuts as I’ve found multiple empty cans in the rubbish.”

 It was the final blow in the argument.  Molly had been completely wrong in every way.  The idea of her accusation and everything that she’d said to Sherlock brought out the most agonizing cry from her chest.  She sobbed into her hands, great gulping sobs that consumed her and overwhelmed her. 

 “I’ve ruined everything!” she wailed, shrinking down onto the bed and curling up into her pain.  “Oh, God! I ruined it all!” Her tears shook her body. She’d never felt so empty, so torn apart, so hopeless. 

 Her stomach rolled as the wave of nausea flowed through her. “I’m going to be sick!” She darted past Sherlock and made it into the bathroom just in time. Sherlock called after her and followed her into the bathroom. 

 When the sickness had passed, she remained kneeling on the cold tile floor, crying and shaking her head. 

 “Molly,” Sherlock said softly.  When she didn’t look up at him, he tried again.  “Molly, come on. Let’s wash out your mouth and get you back in bed.”

 He helped her stand and stayed next to her as she brushed her teeth. He gave her a washcloth to wipe her face.  She looked terrible and felt even worse.  She trembled slightly as she tried to remove the tear streaks from her red, miserable face. Her body was tired from crying, and she was emotionally drained. And before she knew what was happening, Sherlock’s arms were around her, holding her up and keeping her from falling.  She leaned into his warmth and reveled in the strength of his support. 

 “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into his chest. 

 “Put your arms around my neck,” he said. 

 He picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom where he placed her on the bed.  When he went to move away from her, Molly tightened her arms around him, holding him to her. “Don’t leave me,” she said, and the tears returned to her eyes. 

 “I’m not leaving you.”  But her arms stayed around him as she cried into his shoulder.  “Molly?”  His hand brushed over her hair.  “Molly, darling?” He caressed her hip and side.

 “I’m so sorry,” she said through the tears.  “I was so wrong,” she sniffed again and leaned back to look at him. “I don’t think you’re a monster. Peculiar, yes, but not a monster. And I didn’t want you to have to change. I love you the way you are. I love your disorder and chaos. I love that you keep eyeballs in the refrigerator.  I love that you deduce people on crap telly.  I love that your work is so unique and helpful and that you’re the only one who can do what you do.  I love you like this, and a baby would change everything.  And I didn’t want you to have to change.”

 “Are you saying that having a baby means we won’t get to watch crap telly anymore?” Sherlock asked.

 “Sherlock! Don’t tease me right now. I’m very… I’m very…” She could feel the tears swelling again.

 “I know.  I’m sorry. And of course having a baby will change things.  But I’m willing to do what’s necessary.  I thought I’d talk to Mrs. Hudson about the basement apartment she has such difficulty renting out. I could use that as my work space so there wouldn’t be random body parts and experiments around the flat.  John’s old room can be the baby’s room.  And we can use the next few months to go through the main room and either move the dangerous objects to a location out of reach of small hands or we can just toss them out altogether.”

 “You’ve really thought about this,” she said.

 “I’ve been thinking about it for several weeks.” 

 “And have you’ve considered that having a baby means midnight feedings and being awake at odd hours?  The baby will cry and cry and cry and sometimes it won’t stop, and you’ll go mad listening to it cry. And it poops and spits up and poops again.  And then it will start to crawl and stick it’s fingers in light sockets and drool all over your fancy shirts.  It will walk and knock over artifacts and precious antiques.  And then it will talk and question everything you say. And then there’s school and dance lessons and music lessons and sports and when it’s a teenager there’s drinking and sex and arguing over limits.  And it will never stop, Sherlock!  This is forever! It’s not something you can expect to go away in a few days or a few weeks.  It’s forever!”

Sherlock rubbed a circle on her back and hummed thoughtfully. “What I find interesting is that you’ve named every reason not to have a baby rather than the reasons you should have a baby.  You, the sentimental one in this relationship, have failed to mention the moments of beauty that can come from a child.  Just from watching Susan grow up, I’ve been witness to moments of discovery as she learns to walk and talk. I’ve seen her face light up in delight over music and fireworks.  I’ve seen those precious moments of understanding and recognition. Yes, she cries and whines and has dirty diapers.  I find it difficult to believe that I’m the one being optimistic about parenthood since I’m usually the pessimist!”

 Molly sighed, “Oh, Sherlock.” She ran her hands though the hair at the nape of his neck.  “I know how good you are with Susan, and you have no idea how many times I’ve thought that you’d be a wonderful father.”

“Really?”

 She nodded.  “You’d never let any harm come to a child.  You’d protect him…or her with your very life if necessary.  You’d always be open to teaching and explaining to a child the nuances of the world and how you see them.  And you love games, even if some of them are rather unorthodox.”

 “But if you felt that way, why would you think I wouldn’t be anything but welcoming to our own child?”

 “Because when Susan has a fit, you can always pass her back to Mary or John. And at the end of the day, Susan stays with them and we go home alone.  That won’t be the case with this child.  Like I said, it’s forever.”

 “And you never considered that I might want something for forever?”

 Her eyes darted down.  “Sherlock, I know it’s been a year.  You keep saying that. And please, hear me out on this. I don’t mean to upset you, but I don’t think you know where my thoughts are coming from.  Yes, we’ve been having sex for a year now. But this whole time I’ve always thought that at any moment you’d realize how backwards and unsophisticated and overly emotional I am and want nothing more to do with me. These last few months, since August or so, I’ve started to realize that you do want me and care for me. But there are still moments of wonder that something could change all of that.  Given that I never had any indication of how you’d respond were I to become pregnant other than the suggestion that a baby would be most unwelcome, I assumed you wouldn’t want a child.  So when you say that I should have considered how you’d want to be tied to me forever with a child, I say that I had no idea that’s what you want. But I also say… that I was very wrong. And I’m very sorry.”

 “I said it before and I’ll say it again – if anyone will end this relationship, Molly, it will be you.  Someday you might realize that I am selfish and arrogant and not the person you want raising a child.  But I’m what you’ve got. I will be here for my child, and I will be here for you.  Which reminds me, how far along are you?”

 Molly sniffled.  “About seven weeks.”

 Sherlock hummed in thought.  “Christmas then?”

 Molly nodded.  “I like to think so. That night was so wonderful. I like to think that’s what it happened.”

 “It was a very productive night.”

 Molly groaned and buried her face in his neck.  “How can you tease me?”

 Sherlock tightened his arms around her tiny frame.  “It wasn’t a tease; it was the truth.  Does that put the due date around September?”

 She nodded, “September 16.”  She leaned back to look at his eyes.  “How did you know about the citrus smells?”

 “You changed your shampoo.  For the last five years you’ve used the same shampoo.  Then two weeks ago you changed to something that almost doesn’t have a scent.”

 “I was stupid not to tell you.”

 “Out of curiosity, when were you going to tell me?  You said you had planned to say something in a week or so.”

 “I know.  Valentine's Day is just five days away, and I wanted just one Valentine’s Day with you.  Which makes me sound very cruel now that I’ve said it out loud.”

 Sherlock’s eyes darkened, and he looked away from her.  His lips formed a hard line, and she knew she’d upset him again.

 “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I should have said something right away. It was stupid.”

 “No, you were frightened.  I hope that you will never fear me again.”

 “No. I’m so sorry.  Can you ever forgive me?”

 Sherlock’s voice was so soft and gentle it pierced her heart. “Molly, darling, I love you. Of course I can forgive you.   And will you forgive me for ever suggesting that I wouldn’t want a child with you?”

 “Of course.”

 They looked into each other’s eyes for a long, silent time. Sherlock stroked her face and brushed her hair off her neck.  His hand caressed her shoulder, her side, her hip, and came to rest just over her lower abdomen.

 “I’m going to have a baby, Sherlock,” she said.

 “No, _we’re_ going to have a baby.”

 She sighed and pressed her forehead against his.  His lips found hers in a tender kiss. 

 “Will you still have dinner with me on Valentine’s Day?” she asked.

 “It would be my honor.”  But there was hesitancy to his words that made Molly realize she’d probably done more damage than she would ever truly understand. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Complications.


	17. Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small problem, but nothing they can't handle. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very sorry for the delay! Real life has hit hard with illness and school finals. Summer is just around the corner and I promise I will get back into working on this fic. I have about 6-7 more chapters planned out, so I hope you can stick with me. I've been so flattered by all your support. 
> 
> Special thanks to:
> 
> My beta, shopgirl909, for the many revisions she has had to read through! And oOkatiekinsOo for baby advice. I've had two complicated pregnancies, but that doesn't make me an expert. 
> 
> Kathryn_bjordahl, sthrngrlsrck, Arcoiris, Alyshaluz, sfmpco, Nydamascus97, gabriella_t, leidibrf, Sherlockian_87, lilserlockian1975, Icecat62, sadieblu72, Kathryn_bjordahl_1991, and Jess_Loves_Things_and_Stuffs for the comments!
> 
> Ladycrafter, RegalMagnus, and Raelynn for the kudos!
> 
> Flavialikestodraw, tfbl, and sadieblu72 for the Bookmarks.
> 
> (I need to add a bit of a squee that Flavialikestodraw bookmarked my fic! WOW!)

17 - Complication

Molly checked her phone for the fifth time in the last few minutes. Where was Sherlock? He certainly should have been here by now. Or at least texted her. Or at least acknowledged that he knew she was in the hospital.

 Unless he didn’t care.

 She refused to accept that. He’d been so wonderful the last few weeks. Oh sure, he’d rambled off snide comments to John about Molly’s pregnancy (“Why does she have to eat marinated anchovies every day?”) and even told off Mycroft when he said something rude (“At least her belly bump is natural and the mark of a healthy pregnancy rather than the product of stuffing her face with fried foods.”), but to Molly he’d been a dream. In fact, he’d been overly polite to her mother when they told her about the baby. And he’d even smiled a real honest to goodness smile upon hearing his own mother’s jubilant shout over the phone when they told his parents about the baby.

 No, Sherlock cared. She knew that. Which made it even more perplexing that he wasn’t answering her texts.

  _Where are you??? – Molly_

  _Sherlock, I’m scared! I’m in room 318 at Barts. – Molly_

  _At least tell me you’re ok because I’m starting to really worry! – Molly_

She even had left a voice mail message.

 “Sherlock, I’m not sure where you are but I wanted you to know that I’m at Barts. I started spotting and they admitted me right away. I’m fine, but I’m very scared.  Please call me back as soon as you get this!”

 She checked her phone again. Nothing.

 She sent a text to John.

  _Is Sherlock with you? – Molly_

 Nothing.

  _Please answer me. I’m at the hospital. As a patient not as an employee. I need to talk to Sherlock._ _– Molly_

  _John??? – Molly_

Molly wanted to throw the phone across the room, but she didn’t. She looked at the IV and watched it drip. She looked at the fetal heart monitor and watched its progress.  And then she felt her phone vibrate.

  _I SWEAR I’M GOING TO MURDER LESTRAD! – SH_

She sat up, half panicked that something had happened to Sherlock, half relieved that he’d finally contacted her..

  _WHAT’S WRONG? IS THE BABY ALL RIGHT? ARE YOU HURT? – SH_

_We’re both fine for now. They have me hooked up to all kinds of bells and whistles. How soon will you be here? – Molly_

_Ten minutes. Maybe five. – SH_

He was true to his words and came charging into the room six minutes and twenty-eight seconds after his last text, not that Molly was counting. He rushed to her and took her face in his hands. “What happened?” he said, quickly dropping a kiss on her lips. Molly looked at him, frowning at the orange bulky parka he was wearing instead of his Belstaff. 

 “What are you –”

 “Never mind what happened to me. Tell me what happened to you!”

 “I was at work. I felt perfectly fine, but when I went to the loo, there was some spotting. I came up here to be checked, and they admitted me. The doctor examined me and had the IV and monitor put on.  He said he would be in very soon to tell me what’s going on.”

 Sherlock shook his head.  “Damn Lestrad. He botched up an investigation. Well, he would say that I botched up the investigation. Anyway, it’s a very long story that includes my coat, with my phone still tucked away in the pocket, being sent in for examination. I had to nearly strangle someone to get them to return my phone. My coat, however, is probably lost for good. That’s why I didn’t get your texts. I’m so sorry.”

 Relieved, Molly said, “It’s ok. You’re here now.” She held out her hand to him, and he took it.

 “Dr. Hopper? I’d like to discus your condition,” the doctor said, coming into the room. “Is now a good time?” He eyed Sherlock with suspicion.

 “Yes, of course! Doctor, this is my… this is um…”

 Catching on to the doctor’s concern that Molly’s medical information was private and personal, Sherlock stepped forward with his hand out. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. I’m the baby’s father.”

 The doctor took it and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I’m Dr. Braddock.”

 “What’s happened to Molly?” Sherlock asked. “Will the baby be all right?”

 “Yes, but there will need to be some precautions taken. You have an incompetent cervix, Molly.”

 Molly sighed in obvious understanding while Sherlock looked from Molly to the Doctor. “I’m sorry,” Sherlock said, “an incompetent…cervix? Can you explain that?”

 “My cervix is already dilating, Sherlock,” Molly said solemnly. “I could have a miscarriage.” She looked pointedly at her doctor. “I’ve never had a D&C. I’ve never even been pregnant before. I had a very irregularly heavy period when I first started, but that was taken care of with birth control pills. I swear I had no idea I’d be at risk for a miscarriage.”

 “Well, Dr. Hooper, I’m going to do everything I can to ensure that doesn’t happen,” Dr. Braddock insisted. “You’re actually very lucky we caught it when we did. As rare as this condition might be, it’s even more rare to discover it before a miscarriage happens. So, I have already scheduled time for the cerclage to be done tomorrow morning. We’ll keep you for observation, and then you should be able to be released tomorrow evening.”

 “Cerclage?” Sherlock asked.

 “They’ll essentially stitch my cervix closed,” Molly said half-heartedly.

 Sherlock seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable and confused. He was normally quite at ease with the discussion of medical procedures, but few men reacted well to talking about the specifics of female anatomy outside of sexual situations. Especially when said female anatomy wasn’t working properly. Molly would have laughed at him if the situation hadn’t been so worrisome. 

 “They will sew your… your…” Sherlock stammered. 

 “Cervix, Mr. Holmes,” Dr. Braddock said with a smile. “You’re not the first expectant father to be uneasy about the details, nor will you be the last. It’s a rather simple procedure. The cerclage is a ring that is placed at the cervix to keep it closed. Molly then will have to rest and refrain from too much stress, but she should have a fairly normal pregnancy. Around thirty-seven, thirty-eight weeks we will remove the cerclage. The pressure from the weight of the baby will cause the cervix to dilate naturally, and Molly will go into labor. I’ve had patients with this issue last the full forty weeks, so there is no reason to believe that your baby won’t be born full term and very healthy.”

 Sherlock still didn’t look well, but he had obviously been paying attention. “You said she will need to rest? As in bed rest?”

 “Yes, but not to the extreme that you assume. She can certainly walk and move around. But I’m sorry Molly, you won’t be able to go to work.”

 Molly frowned, feeling defeated.

 “You’ll need to keep your feet up and the pressure off of your cervix. The easier you take it, the more likely the pregnancy will go full term. Try to avoid stress and tense situations.  And, of course, no sex.”

 Molly looked at Sherlock to gage his reaction.  To her surprise, he simply nodded.

 “By no sex, you mean actual intercourse,” Molly said. “We can still… you know…”

 “No, I mean no sex. In fact, I should say that there should be no sexual stimulation.”

 Molly repeatedly looked from the doctor to Sherlock waiting for some kind of reaction.  Sherlock didn’t do well with being told what to do, especially when it involved the word “no.”

 “She’s only ten weeks pregnant,” Sherlock said. “That’s seven months before the baby is here.”

 Ah, there it was.  Sherlock was going to argue with the doctor and probably end up looking like an intolerant sex addict.

 The doctor looked at the monitors hooked up to Molly and then took up her chart and wrote some information on it. “I know it’s a difficult issue to face, but any sexual stimulation could encourage contractions. The muscles that contract during delivery are the same muscles that contract in an orgasm. Thus, any sexual stimulation of the breasts and genitals could bring on labor. Additionally, there is risk of infection.  Molly shouldn’t even be taking baths let alone having sex.  I’ll provide you with a complete list of instructions.”

 Sherlock frowned at the man. “I wasn’t referring to the difficulty in abstaining from sex. What sort of brute do you take me for that I would risk the life of my unborn child just for some sexual pleasure? No, my concern was that being essentially confined to home for seven months would make Molly go mad. It would make anyone go mad.”

 “Mr. Holmes, I do know it’s difficult.”

 “How do you know?  Have you ever been put on house arrest?”

 “What?” The doctor gaped at Sherlock.  “Good heavens, no.  I’m just stating that I understand the difficulty when one must—”

 “You don’t understand the difficulty.  You can’t even sympathize until you have been told not to work, not to travel, not to do anything stressful or taxing for seven months.  Given the dullness of your fading hair color and sallow complexion, I would gather that the only excitement you have seen in the last several years comes in the form of the births you have witnessed. While I won’t dispute the intensity of those situations, I will argue that witnessing a birth, even hundreds of births as I assume you have done, does not mean you understand what it is to actually have a baby housed in your womb.  No man, myself included, can understand the situation Molly must face in carrying the child to term while being completely and utterly bored to death from lack of stimulating work as well as stimulating physical activities. For Molly to be confined to home for seven months will be a harrowing situation to face.”

 “Sherlock,” Molly groaned.

 “I’m sorry, Molly.  I don’t mean to upset you, and I certainly will abide by the doctors orders for the welfare of the baby, but until this man, or any man for that matter, sprouts a vagina and ovaries and gives birth to a baby, stating that he understands how difficult this is going to be for you is unreservedly ridiculous.”

 Dr. Braddock adjusted his tie and sniffed.  “Mr. Holmes, I don’t know where you get your information, but for the sake of your girlfriend’s health and for the health of the baby, I am recommending that she refrain from too much activity for the remainder of her pregnancy.  Additionally, if I were you, I would try to maintain a good relationship with her doctor if you’d like to be granted access to her medical files and information.” He looked at Molly. “Like I said, Dr. Hooper, you should avoid stress. Given the five minutes I’ve spent with your boyfriend, that appears as if it might be difficult. So please, rest and try to take it easy for the sake of the baby.”

 Sherlock scoffed at him, but before he could offer a retort, Molly grabbed his hand and said, “It’s ok, Dr. Braddock.  He’s just had a very bad day at work and is in a bit of a shock.”

 “Yes, well, that’s understandable.  Most husbands— I mean, expectant fathers don’t deal well with news that their wife, or girlfriend in this case, has to maintain some sort of bed rest. But such is the case. I’ll send a nurse in soon with the necessary paperwork, and we’ll get you set up for the procedure tomorrow.” He nodded and walked out of the room, giving Sherlock a pointed look as he left.

 “Boyfriend.” Sherlock spat, walking to the door and closing it so no one in the hallway could hear them. “That man insulted you, Molly.  He insulted us both!”

 “By calling you my boyfriend?” she said softly.

 “Most expectant husbands, I mean, _fathers_ …” Sherlock imitated the doctor’s voice. “He’s insinuating that there is a difference between my status as the baby’s father as your lover rather than your husband.  As if being married would change the way I would care for you or the baby.” He rubbed his face and ruffled his hair. 

 Molly sat quietly, not wanting to upset the apple cart by pressing Sherlock into talking about marriage.  He’d never mentioned it.  Ever. This was the first time she’d ever heard him refer to the possibility of the two of them being married. And actually, he didn’t say they might get married, but rather that they weren’t married and it shouldn’t matter. She wanted it, certainly, and had hoped that the grand display he had put forth on Valentine’s Day would have led to a proposal. But alas, her ring finger went undecorated. 

 “That man does not care for you, only for his paycheck,” Sherlock stated.

 “How do you know that?” she asked.

 “Because he obviously knows very little about you personally regardless of the fact that you both work in the same hospital.  How long has he been your doctor?  Haven’t you told him anything about your job and who you are?”

 “Well, he’s got lots of patients, Sherlock.  He knows who I am.  He just doesn’t know all the details of my life.”

 “This is why I usually only take one client at a time.  I can focus better and figure out every detail.” Sherlock took her hand in his. “For now, what I need to focus on is finding you intellectually stimulating things to do that won’t involve too much stress and can be done from the security of Baker Street.”

 “Sherlock, can you just promise me you won’t do anything to upset my doctor? I have a long ways to go yet, and from the looks of it, I’m going to rely on him quite a bit to get us through this. It would be so much easier if you would hold your tongue until he’s out of the room.  He’s really highly recommended and I do trust him when it comes to the health of the baby.  Do you think you can try to like him until after the baby’s born?”

 Sherlock looked at her.  Really looked. She’d only seen that look on his face a few times.  It was the way he looked when he knew he was wrong and wanted to make things right but didn’t know how. His face changed somehow and he seemed so much more innocent. 

 “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I will do everything in my power to ensure that you have a stress free pregnancy, even if it means biting my tongue when your doctor is around at least until after the baby is born.”

 “Sherlock.”

 “Ok,” he grumbled.  “I’ll wait until the baby is three or four months old.”

 She shook her head.  “What am I going to do with you?”

 “That’s a good question. An even better one would be what am I going to do with you? I know you like romance novels and crap telly, but that’s hardly a healthy diet of intellectually stimulating activities.” He gently stroked the knuckles on her hand. “Are you really here for the night?”

 “It seems so.”

 “You realize I haven’t slept away from you since we reestablished our intimate relationship after we started dating.”

 She rolled her eyes.  He always referred to the way they came back together after their big fight as “when we started dating” even though the relationship began long before that.  However, she was touched by the unusual sentiment of Sherlock looking quite displeased over the fact that he’d have to spend a night without her. 

 “Of course, I’ve been away over night for cases, but every time I’ve actually slept, it’s been next to you.  Not having sex is one thing, but not even sleeping next to you is quite another,” he said, running his thumb over her knuckles.

 “I think you’ll manage.”

 He looked down at her, his icy blue eyes taking in all the aspects of her face. Memorizing her. It was another one of Sherlock’s looks that Molly had come to know.  He was taking her face as it was in that moment into his memory where he’d be able to pull it up in his mind palace. 

 “You scared me today,” he said softly.

 “I scared myself.”

 “You must know that I’ve always been protective of you.  But if something were to happen to you right now…” his eyes fell on her stomach.  “Your life is not your own, and that frightens me.  I don’t handle loss well, Molly.  I can’t lose you. Either of you. I hope you know that.”

 She looked into his eyes and saw truth and compassion in his gaze. She knew he loved her and would care for her.  But if he really couldn’t stand to lose her, and it bothered him so much that the doctor had mentioned the status of their relationship, why wouldn’t he just ask her to marry him? Not wanting to lose someone… wanting someone forever… never wanting her to go… those were things he’d said to her. Why wouldn’t he just ask her to marry him?

 She was well aware that lots of people had babies without being married. She knew Sherlock was a forward thinker and modern man.  She knew it shouldn’t matter that they weren’t married when he loved her and would stay by her side. She’d seen so many happy couples that weren’t married last for ages and ages.  She knew, as a modern woman, that she had everything that she needed. And so many marriages today ended in a messy divorce.  Having Sherlock’s love was more than she’d ever dreamed of, so marriage shouldn’t even be a consideration.

 She knew that.  So why did she want more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, kudos, and bookmarks are love!
> 
> Next chapter... Visualize!


	18. Visualize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock isn't doing very well at providing Molly with a "stress free" pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! It's summer and I'm going to try to finish the fic before school starts back up again. 
> 
> Thanks go to:
> 
> Shopgirl909 for being a very patient and giving beta reader!
> 
> leidibrf, Sherlockian_87, Arcoiris, tobetheone, cs90, oOkatiekindOo, and Icecat62 for the comments!
> 
> Lakotadudette23, Agent_Gingermane, sfmpoc, Elli, wildermine54, and shadesofgrey16 for the kudos!
> 
> Messynachos, tobetheone, sfmpco, and KLS0214 for the Bookmarks!

18 – Visualize

She heard the door open and close followed by the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps.  Sherlock never made much sound, but she could tell in this case he was being extra cautious to be as quiet as possible.  He must have taken his clothes off in the other room, because all she heard was the soft rustle of fabric as he placed his items on the chair before coming to the bed. Carefully, he lifted the covers and slid between the sheets. 

He’d done this before when a case went late, and usually Molly didn’t mind. Usually.  Tonight was different though, and she sighed loudly to alert him to the fact that she was awake.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” With her back to him, she couldn’t see his face. “The case went long,” he said very softly before reaching out to caress her arm.

She jerked away from him.

“Molly?”

She didn’t answer.  He tried again to put his arm around her and she pulled away.

“What’s wrong?”

She huffed again and scooted further away.  There was a long, tense silence that filled the space between them.

“Is this about that scan? That I missed the scan?” 

No answer, which told him he was right. 

“Molly, I’m sorry I had to miss it.  There will be other scans.”

She huffed.

“And it isn’t as if I haven’t seen the little bean.  I saw the first scan.  I heard the rapidly fluttering heartbeat.”

She twisted her body to see him.  Sherlock had been calling the baby “the little bean” since the first scan around her eighth week of pregnancy.  While it had been endearing for a few weeks, now it just grated on her nerves and exacerbated her bad mood.  “You could have at least called.  Texted even.”

“No, I couldn’t.  My phone was destroyed.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “How?”

“Well, you know.  It…broke.”

He was avoiding telling her something.  “How did it break?”

He took a deep breath.  “It got shot.”

Molly sat up straight. “What?!  You were shot?!”

“No, I wasn’t shot, but my phone was,” Sherlock corrected sitting up next to her.

“And where was your phone when it got shot?”

He hesitated a moment, which was never a good sign. “In my hand.”

“Then you were being shot at and it just happened to hit the phone! Oh, my God!”

“No, he was aiming at the phone.”

Molly shook her head. “Why didn’t you have John text me then?”

“Well,” he drew the word out, which meant whatever was coming next would not be good news.  “John’s phone got shot, too.”

“He shot them both?!”

“Yes, that’s how I know he was aiming at the phone.”

“How…why… Who are we talking about and why would he shoot your phones?”

“Just some criminal you don’t need to worry yourself with.  He’s behind bars now.  And he shot the phones because he obviously didn’t want us contacting the police. But he was too late and the police had already been called. Yet even still, it does lend itself to be slightly alarming that this is the second time my phone has kept me from important information about you and the baby.  I do hope this isn’t setting up a pattern. I’m not superstitious, but it does seem to be unusual that—”

“Wait a second!  Back it up,” she rubbed at her eyes to try and clear any clutter from her thoughts. “You faced an armed criminal without police backup even though you knew they were coming?”

“He wasn’t armed when I followed him into the warehouse.  Even so, I had believed him to be more of a knife man than a gunman.  The pistol honestly took both John and me by total surprise.”

“You followed him… you thought…” This story was only going to get worse before it got better.  “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of catching a criminal.  You know, that’s what I do.  Molly, there is no reason to worry.  I’m fine.”

“But you might not have been!  You could have been very badly hurt!"

“But I wasn’t.”

“But you have been in the past.  You’ve been shot before.”

Sherlock make a face.  “That was… very different.”

“And you have no idea what that did to me, to hear that you were shot! Sherlock, I was sick with grief and fear that you’d die.”

“No, I didn’t know because you didn’t visit me.  Not once, Molly!”

“Are we really going to fight about that?  I thought you had been sleeping with that bridesmaid, and you had insulted me when my engagement ended.  I didn’t think you wanted to see me.  But that’s beside the point.  We’re past that.”

“Then what is your point in bringing it up?’

“My point is that we weren’t even together then, and my heart had difficultly accepting the idea that you might die.  Now, here we are, in a committed relationship, with a baby on the way, and you’re risking your life and getting shot at?!” Her voice rose to an unnatural pitch.

“I didn’t do anything that I don’t normally do.”

“My point exactly, Sherlock!  You put yourself in harms way without waiting for the police!  You get shot at, and then you nonchalantly tell me about it as if it’s no big deal!”

“I didn’t want to upset you.  The doctor’s orders were for you to have a calm and stress free pregnancy. I concluded that not telling you about something you don’t really need to know would help maintain the stress free ambiance you and the little bean need.”

“Stress free?  Just because I might not know you’re being shot at doesn’t mean you aren’t being shot at and recklessly endangering yourself.  I need you, Sherlock.  I don’t want to do this on my own.  I know I said I could do it on my own, but I don’t want to if I don’t have to.  You told me you would be a part of this baby’s life. You told me you would be here. You demanded it. Yet your actions demonstrate the exact opposite. Do you want to die, Sherlock? Do you want your son growing up without you?  Is that what you really want? Or do you want to be here and be a part of his life?  I know it’s your job, Sherlock, and I don’t want to stop you from doing it. But you once told me that my life wasn’t my own.  Well, it goes both ways. Your life isn’t your own. You have to consider what your loss would do to me.  What it would do to us.”

They stared at each other for a long, silent time.  There wasn’t anger in his eyes, but his expression was difficult to read.  He searched her face for something.  Molly hoped he’d see her sincerity and understand her fears rather than continue to brush them aside. 

Sherlock wet his lips and said, “My son?”

Molly groaned and slouched back against the pillows.  “Out of everything that I just said, _that’s_ the part you picked up on?”

“It’s the first time you’ve referred to the baby as a single gender.”

She shook her head and expelled a deep sigh.  “Yes, Sherlock.  We’re having a boy. That’s why I wanted you there today – to find out with me.”

Sherlock pursed his lips together and after a moment said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“We can’t ever get that moment back.”

“I know.”

They sat in a stilted silence for a few moments.  “Do you at least want to see him?” she asked.

Sherlock met her eyes.  “I promise I will be at the next scan.”

“Good, but would you like to see him now?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted down to the swell of her abdomen.  “How?”

Molly turned to her side, grabbed a small stack of prints, and handed them to Sherlock.  “Here.”

Slumping down so he’d be more on her level, Sherlock took the photos and gazed at the fuzzy black and white image of a baby’s profile. “Not a bean anymore, is he?”

“No, he’s not.”

She watched as his eyes took in all the details the ultrasound photo had to offer.  Molly had always wondered what it was like to see things they way Sherlock saw things. Now she also wished she knew the thoughts that went along with taking in those visuals. 

“He has your nose,” Sherlock said quietly. 

“What? Are you sure?”

“Well, my nose doesn’t perk up like that at the end. It's slightly distorted, but I’d still bet you twenty quid he’ll have your nose.”

Molly looked at the image with even more incredulity than she had previously. “My nose?  Don’t you think the image is a little fuzzy though?”

“No,” Sherlock stated firmly and let her admire the nose for a moment before he revealed the next picture.

“That’s a bit unsettling,” he said, looking at the dark eye sockets and angled face of the baby.

“The eyes don’t show up.  You know that.”

“But he has eyes, yes?”  After a beat he added, “Not that I wouldn’t care for a child that didn’t have eyes, I’m just asking if our child has eyes or should I prepare myself for the possibility that—”

“He has eyes, Sherlock.”

“Oh, well.  Good.” Sherlock shuffled to the next image. “Spine looks normal.”

“Yes.”

At the next picture, he stopped and looked closely at the imagine trying to discern what he saw.  “What is this? What am I looking at here? Are those feet?”

“Yes, and his penis.”

Sherlock brought the photo closer.  “Where?”

Molly pointed out the spot between the baby’s legs. 

“Well then, he’s rather well endowed, isn’t he?”

“Oh, God,” Molly rolled her eyes and took the pictures away from him. “Don’t turn into a typical penis driven man now.”

“I was just stating a fact that his genitals seemed to be rather large given how clearly visible they were.”

“Because that’s what important. Not that the baby doesn’t have spina bifida or a heart defect.”

Sherlock looked surprised.  “I pointed out that the spine looked healthy, and I questioned the eyes. If something had been truly abnormal about the scan, you would have led with that.  You wouldn’t have been so standoffish and huffy when I came home. You would have been crying and explaining what was wrong the moment I stepped in the door.”

She really hated it when he was right.  She scowled and curled into the covers with her back to him.

“Molly?” He touched her arms and gently turned her onto her back so he could look down at her face. “Thank you for letting me see the pictures of the baby.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there today.  And I promise I will be more careful with my life.”

“Promise?” she said.

His hand came to rest over the baby as he dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “Promise.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Distance
> 
> Reviews, kudos, and bookmarks are love!


	19. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wants work in opposition to needs, and it puts a distance between Molly and Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay again! My fabulous beta reader shopgirl909 was moving, and I don't post until she's reads the NEXT chapter. I keep at least one chapter ahead just in case I need to alter something. So now that she's moved, she's been able to read for me! YEAH! Congrats to her on her new house and thanks for the help! And now I have three chapters nearly ready to go, so I should update pretty regularly for the next few chapters. 
> 
> Also thanks go to:
> 
> leidibrf, lilserlockian1975, Sherlockian_87, Icecat62 for the comments!
> 
> Zoa and gabriella_t for the bookmarks! 
> 
> RubyShane, Sherlockianginger, Zoa, Mistykins06, datoldnolasoul, and kraftykathy for the kudos!

19 – Distance

 

Lying in bed, Molly could feel that Sherlock was awake.  As tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep because Sherlock was awake. “Go to sleep,” she whispered. 

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

Sherlock only hummed in reply.  Molly rolled over and slid closer to him, brushing her hand over the bare flesh on his belly. 

“Molly?”

She kissed his shoulder and then his neck.  “I love you,” she whispered. 

Another hum.

She breathed in his masculine scent and snuggled as close to his side as the baby bump would allow.  What she had hoped would relax him must have had the opposite effect because, just moments later, Sherlock was shifting away from her and crawling out from under the covers. 

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I forgot.  I have some things I need to do.”

“Now? It’s after midnight.”

“No time like the present.”

He left the room and didn’t return all night.  Molly rubbed her hand over the baby wondering if he’d felt the baby move and been turned off.  Just into her third trimester, she certainly wasn’t the slim waisted girl he’d once fallen for.  This often happened when a woman was pregnant.  Hormones and swollen body parts weren’t very attractive.  She knew he loved her, but she was starting to realize that he would deal with her pregnancy in his own way.  And Molly would give him space.  It wouldn’t be long until the baby came and space – both physical and emotional – would be limited.

***

“Slot C should match up with the top notch”

“Well, it doesn’t.”

“Did you place the bar across the bottom?”

“Obviously, given that there is a bar across the bottom.”

“Then slot C should be lined up.”

“It should, but it isn’t!  It hasn’t ever been lined up.”

“But that’s what the directions say.”

“They can say whatever the bloody hell they want.  Slot C does not match up.”

“Then something’s wrong.”

“Brilliant deduction, John.  Figure that out on your own, did you?”

“I’m trying to help you, Sherlock.”

“Can you explain to me how slot C can be so far dawn the bar and not at all where it should be?”

“Maybe you’ve flipped it around?  Maybe it’s backwards?”

“It’s not backwards, damn it!  Look! Slot B is perfectly aligned! How can slot C not match up?”

“Well, I think you’ll have to take it apart and start over.”

“This is the third time I’ve tried to match up slot C and I assure you, I am doing this correctly!  I solve puzzles for a living!  Difficult puzzles that so-called experts can’t seem to work though.  I can look at a crime scene for five minutes and know more than the police do after two hours. I can out think criminal masterminds and track down a whole network of spies!  _I can bloody well put a baby crib together_!”

Molly fought back a giggle as she listened to the two men fight over their construction project from her bedroom.  Sherlock had tried to put it together on his own. After nearly tossing the pieces out the window, Molly suggested calling John.  They had been in the other room for an hour now trying to make everything fit together properly.  From the rising anger in Sherlock’s voice and the clatter of wood pieces on the floor, it obviously wasn’t going well.

“You can’t leave it like that?” John said.

“Oh, yes I can! Until the Rialto Cot Company can make a product that isn’t defective, I can leave it just like that!”

“Or until your son needs to go to sleep.”

There was a pause in which Molly could just picture Sherlock given John a piercing look.  “Shut up,” Sherlock said. “He can sleep in a Moses Basket. Those come assembled.”

Molly gaped.  Sherlock knew what a Moses basket was?  She was just about to call out to him to come into the room and talk to her when she heard the drill whirring away again.

“Trust me, you’ll feel better once the crib is put together,” John said.

Sherlock mumbled something, and the next day a fully assembled crib was delivered to 221B Baker Street along with a Moses Basket and a rocking chair.

 

* * *

It was the third night in a row that Sherlock hadn’t come to bed. He said he was working on something, but since he didn’t have a case, Molly had no idea what it was. She couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the other room, so trying to figure out what was keeping him from coming to bed would require her to go and peek in on him.  Which after three nights she was absolutely going to do. And with it being after one in the morning, she was ready to make her move.  Giving him space shouldn’t mean that they’d sleep apart.

To her surprise and pleasure, Sherlock opened the door and came into the room. She knew he was being ultra quiet, so she stayed quiet, as well.  He carefully slid under the covers and rested his head against the pillow.

“Did you finish?” she said.

Sherlock jumped, “Good lord!” He put his hand over his face. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I’m not.  I don’t sleep well if you’re not here, you know.”  She turned and wrapped her arms around his middle.  “I take it you finished whatever it was you were working on?”

Sherlock’s torso stiffened.  “I did, yes.”

Molly sighed and burrowed against his shoulder.  “Good.”

After a few very silent, very tense minutes, Sherlock pulled out of her arms and stood up.  “I forgot. There’s one more thing I need to do.”

“Sherlock,” she whined. 

He bent and quickly kissed her mouth.  “Go back to sleep, darling.”

Molly grumbled as he left the room.  She had been too needy and hadn’t given him the space she’d promised herself he should have.  Or maybe it wasn’t space he needed.  Maybe he really was turned off by the baby bump.  She’d gained a bit of weight in the past month, and her legs and feet were usually swollen. And Sherlock was clearly avoiding sleeping with her.  She sighed and patted the bulge of her stomach, resigned to allow Sherlock his space. Again. 

* * *

The drumming of Sherlock’s fingers against the arm of the chair was driving Molly insane.  He’d been doing it for about thirty minutes now.  Non-stop. Unending.  She’d even mentioned it to him and he said it was helping him think.  Think about what? He didn’t have a case.

Sherlock exhaled loudly and slumped all the way down in his chair. The drumming continued. Only now it was coupled with a toe tapping against the leg of the table.  And the two sounds were not entirely in sync.  How could he tap his foot in one rhythm and drum his fingers in another?

A grumble rose out of his throat.  The drumming and tapping continued.

Molly, surrounded by medical paperwork from Barts, looked over at him from her place on the couch.  “What’s wrong?”

“Bored.”

“So, go do something.”

“Such as?”

“Well, the nursery needs to be painted still.”

“Boring.”

“You could go pick up some groceries.  I’ve got a craving for pickles.”

“Boring.” He looked at her. “Don’t be a cliché. I thought you liked marinated anchovies.”

Molly made a face.  “Ugh, no! That was a first trimester craving. Now I want pickles and strawberry ice cream.” She stretched then rubbed a hand over her belly.  “And he’s kicking, so he must agree that you should go get some yummy dessert.”

The drumming and tapping stopped.  His eyes focused on hers and then slowly fell to where her hand rested on her swollen middle. 

“I know,” she sighed, remembering how he always reacted to the size of her belly. “I shouldn’t’ eat so much. I’m a big as a horse, and I’ve still got over a month to go!”  She tried to lighten the mood.

“Eat what you want,” Sherlock said.  “If you’re craving it, then it must be something the baby needs.”

“I doubt the baby needs all this sugar, and yet I can’t help myself. I know I’m getting fat, but it all tastes so good!”

“You’re not fat.”  His eyes were again on her abdomen.  “You’re…pregnant.” He exhaled slowly and said, “I _need_ a case,” and then started back in on the drumming and tapping. 

“Sherlock!” she said a bit more harshly than she intended. 

He sat up and frowned at her.  “What’s wrong?”

“Stop making all that noise and go out and do something!”

“That’s my point, Molly.  If I had something to do, I would do it.”

“I told you what you could do.”

“You gave me two rather boring options of things I don’t want to do.”

“Then what is it that you want to do?”

“I need a case!  If I had a case I’d be… things would be…”

Molly waited.  Sherlock looked over at her again and then, with a bit of a growl, picked up his violin and started plucking at the strings.

“If you’re going to play, then play something light to lesson the tension in the room.”

Sherlock’s frown deepened.  “There’s no tension in the room.”

Molly shook her head and decided to ignore him refocusing on the autopsy report in front of her. 

 

*** 

Molly awoke to the weight of a hand on her belly.  She slowly opened her eyes and took in Sherlock’s shape in the darkness.  He was lying beside her, still as could be, his hand resting on the swell of her abdomen, his eyes closed.  She watched him a moment, wondering what he was doing.  Was he feeling the movement of the baby?  Was he thinking about the future as she had often done in the last few months? Was he wishing she wasn’t so big and round?

After a few moments of perfect stillness, Sherlock’s head dipped lower, close to her chest.  His head turned to the side in a manner indicative of a man about to lie down on a pillow, or in this case, his lover’s breasts.  But he stopped just a fraction of an inch away from her.  He breathed in slowly, deeply, and exhaled just as slowly and deeply. His face turned again, this time into the crook of her neck.  Again, he didn’t touch her.  And again he just inhaled and exhaled, sending his warm breath against her skin.

Molly held as still as she could, but whatever he was doing was surprisingly and yet insanely erotic.  Her body tingled and her heart hammered away in her chest in anticipation.  

His eyes opened and met hers.  The two of them remained very still, just drinking in each other’s eyes in the darkness. His face was so close. She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but didn’t even get a sound out before his mouth covered hers.

The kiss was hot and wet and demanding.  Sherlock’s hands pulled her close, his leg slid between hers, and his tongue danced inside her mouth.  A moan, deep and needful, escaped his throat as he adjusted his position so that she could feel the full strength of his erection.  She ran her fingers though his hair and angled her hips towards his, offering him what he was so clearly looking for.

And then the baby kicked.

And Sherlock immediately pulled away from her.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry,” he panted through ragged breaths.  He crawled to the edge of the bed, lying face down with his head turned away from her. “I’m sorry, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“No need to apologize,” she said, willing her sensitive body to calm down.

“After all my efforts to keep my need for you in check, I’ve placed the baby in danger.”

Molly turned and ran her hand over his back.

“No don’t!” he said, pulling away from her and very nearly falling off the bed.  “Don’t,” he repeated after a few deep breaths.  “I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

Molly sat up, grabbing his hand to stop him from leaving.  “Is that what this has been about?  Why you sleep on the couch and not with me?”

“Of course.  Why else would I not sleep with you?”

“I thought…I thought…” She looked away, suddenly embarrassed and feeling foolish for thinking he didn’t find her attractive anymore.

“Please don’t tell me you assumed I wasn’t attracted to you?”

Molly made a face.  “Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

He groaned.  “I wish that were the case.”

“You wish?  Why would you wish a thing like that?”

“Because then I might be able to get some sleep and not feel so damned irritated by everything.  I know I’m usually irritated by everything, but my ability to cope with the inanity of life has recently plummeted into nothingness.  I spent nearly a decade wiling myself into abstinence, yet I can’t seem to manage a few months now without going mad.” 

The idea made Molly smile, but she couldn’t let him see that. She held back the reaction and said, “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.  My hormones are off the charts!  I just want to make love all day long, but I know we can’t.”

“I’m well aware of your hormones.  Your scent is so much more… _Molly_. You smell so damn good! And your body…” he groaned and buried his face in the pillow.  “I’d never understood how men could claim being attracted to their pregnant wives, with the mood swings and ever changing body shape.”

“And now you do?”

Sherlock rose up to give her a pointed look.  “You don’t see yourself properly.  It’s always been a fault of yours, but now it’s even worse than ever. Everything about your shape is more feminine, and those feminine qualities are more pronounced with each passing day. Your hips have widened and are more curved. From the back, you don’t look pregnant, you just look more womanly with a near hourglass shape. Your breasts, GOD! Your breasts,” he said looking at them.  “They are so full, so round, and the nipple is more pronounced and a darker shade of pink. They are exquisite. And the swell of your belly…” He shifted and bravely placed a hand over her middle.  “The life inside of you is part of me.  The changes to your body are because of this life, because of me. I have this unexplainable need to cover your body with mine, not as a sexual gesture, but out of protection. I’m fascinated by the movements I see and feel.  I’m enamored with all of these changes taking place.  And yet, I don’t dare act on my impulses for fear of hurting you and the baby, something for which I would never be able to forgive myself!  I know that’s incredibly sentimental of me to say, and very out of character, but I never anticipated this happening. I never expected to love you. I certainly never expected to have a child with you.  Yet, here we are and I can’t touch you without putting the life of the child in danger. So, I will sleep on the couch to ensure the pregnancy reach full term.”

Tears were stinging Molly’s eyes.  “Please don’t!”

“Did you hear what I said, Molly?”

“I heard every word, and I don’t want you sleeping on the couch. We can behave. We can be adults about this. Just please don’t sleep away from me.”

He gave her an agonizing look.  “I will have an erection all night long.” 

“And sleeping on the couch will make your erection go away?”

“No.”

“Then why sleep on the couch?”

Sherlock pursed his lips. 

“And who knows, maybe I could help you with that.  After all, the doctor said I wasn’t supposed to be sexually aroused.  He didn’t say you weren’t allowed to be.  And he didn’t say I couldn’t take care of you if need be.”

Sherlock’s stare was hot and full of longing.  “I don’t expect you to do that.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Sherlock didn’t make any more arguments against it, nor did he sleep on the couch again. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Mycroft
> 
> I’d like to take a chance to say something that’s been on my mind, so if you don’t care for long author’s notes that have nothing to do with the plot you’ve been reading, no worries! Skip this and leave me a comment or a kudo. 
> 
> There was a recent post on tumblr that commented on how cliquish the fandom is. I’ve been involved in many fandoms over the years mostly as a fan fic writer and reader (for Superman, Star Wars, Star Trek, Phantom of the Opera, Harry Potter, and Twilight), but also as a recognizable fan in the community that ran a notable website (that would be for Twilight the Twilight Lexicon and Harry Potter the Werewolf Registry). I know what it’s like to be both the new kid on the block and the long timer that’s been around since before it was popular to like said fandom. Both have their ups and downs, but both are really up to you how you enjoy them.
> 
> I came into Sherlock late to the game, and I’m pretty sure we were in the bottom of the 7th when I found Sherlolly. So as a “new” fan fic writer to a long time established fandom, I expected to not be taken too seriously. In fact, when I approached a big name in the fandom and asked for a beta read, I was initially refused on the grounds that the story was so far out of character it made this person sick. Even though the person only read half of the first chapter, even though I explained how the story would go and that it would work out in the end, the person refused to read anymore of my story. I was so upset! If someone who is that popular didn’t like my fic, how could I EVER get someone else to read it? After all, isn’t fandom a big clique?
> 
> I’m a floored and very humbled that so many of you have taken a liking to my plot line! I know Sherlock was a jerk in those first few chapters, but he had to be! He had to SLOWLY change, and I think he’s still changing. So is Molly. But I’ve been so flattered by the response that I’ve had over the fic. I can’t say enough nice words about the kindness those of you who follow my story have shown me. 
> 
> And to anyone who feels the fandom is ignoring you, keep going. No one person owns or controls a fandom. Fandom, by the nature of the name, is only as good as the FANS! That’s a plural word. Fandom is what you make it, not what someone else makes it. Trust me, I lived through so many fandom ups downs… back when there was no facebook, tumblr, instagram, or twitter. Back when we got fanzines with fan fic in them because there was no Internet! (Yes, I’m that old!) Someone is bound to like your post or art or fic or whatever. There is room enough for all of us!


	20. Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who chimed in about my long AN at the end of the last chapter. Consider an early posting as a gift! 
> 
> Additional thanks go to: 
> 
> Shopgirl909 for being an amazing beta reader even when she's moving!
> 
> Kathryn_bjordahl_1991, oOkatiekindOo, Sherlockian_87, gabriella_t, Mandy95, MaiaLonghorn, Icecat62, sadieblu72, Arcoiris, InMollysWildestDreams, and WayTooEasilyObsesssed for the comments!
> 
> Fashionfiend and Cgrbuddon for the bookmarks! 
> 
> Monirosez, KLS0214, fashionfiend, Lovlymissmolly, EvilCatt, Lanceletta, and SeverusMinerva for the kudos!

20 – Mycroft

 Molly sat on top of the covers of the bed, surrounded by a mixture of autopsy reports and baby magazines that made for very unusual reading when paired together. She spent her days swapping between the two, focusing on the baby mags when she felt especially sentimental and emotional about the impending birth that was to happen in the next three weeks, and then turning her attention to autopsy reports when her brain needed a challenge.  She’d been scouring though a report that Sherlock had demanded she focus on for a case and thought she’d found an important piece of the puzzle in the contents of the man’s stomach when she heard the front door to the flat open.

 Fifteen minutes later, she was alone again still surrounded by her magazines and reports.  She felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from the room.  She glanced around at the happy baby faces and smiling mothers that graced the covers of the magazines and wondered if what she’d just said would come back to bite her.

No. It wouldn’t.  She was right and he was wrong.  And she’d never question it again.  

“Molly!” Sherlock’s voice cut through her thoughts.  He charged into the bedroom and took in every detail of the situation, confusion settling on his face.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, even though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

Sherlock grabbed up the bits of magazines and reports that covered his side of the bed and sat down next to her.  “What did he want?  Why was he here?”

“How…?”

“I saw the car pulling away.  And I got this text.”  He held his phone up for Molly to read.

_Open your eyes and see the truth about her.  Hasn’t this gone far enough?_ – MH

Molly looked up at Sherlock.  “Your brother is a complete and total asshole.”

Sherlock’s brows nearly touched his hairline.  “Very true.  Now, tell me what he said or did that warranted such a response.”

Molly shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does or you wouldn’t be so upset.”

“Really, Sherlock, I don’t want to talk about it.” Molly gathered up the papers in front of her and dropped them onto the floor beside the bed. “Just forget about it.” With a huff, she adjusted herself so she could pull the covers out from under her and slide her feet underneath.  It was difficult given the late stage of her pregnancy, but she kept at it. She could feel Sherlock’s eyes on her the whole time, which is why she avoided looking at him directly. Sherlock helped her pull the covers up to her waist and rested his hand on the roundness of her stomach. She stopped and looked down at his hand.

“Did Mycroft say something about the baby? Something pertaining to the legitimacy or the—”

“No,” she said quickly.  Placing her hand over Sherlock’s, she said, “He didn’t say anything bad about the baby.”

There was a long, tense silence as the real message behind her confession became obvious. 

“What did he say about _me_?”

She could not look at Sherlock.  Not now.

“Molly, you have to tell me.”

“No, I don’t.  It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Sherlock touched her chin and gently turned her face towards his. When she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he bent his head so that she was forced to look at him. “Did he say I was bound to fail? That I had no business trying to be a father?”

Fighting back tears, Molly said, “No,” which again sounded more like a question. “Sort of,” she said as a tear fell down her cheeks.  “UGH! Damn hormones!” She wiped at her eyes and leaned into Sherlock, resting her head on his shoulder.

He put his arms around her.  “Tell me what he said.”

“That you’d leave.”  And the waterworks turned on full blast.  “That you were only playing house because of the difficulty of the pregnancy, but that you had no intention to stay.  That he’d give you three months – six tops – and you’d be irritated by diapers and crying and baby food, and you’d leave.  That no matter what you’ve told me in the last year, the previous thirty-six years prove you hold no real commitments or loyalties to anyone but yourself. And he said it all with that snooty _I’m-smarter-than-you_ face he has whenever he’s talking to me. I hate that face!”

From her position, she could feel his heart starting to race. “And you believed him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Sherlock pulled away to look down at her. “You didn’t?”

“No, and I told him off for it.  I told him I knew you loved me, and that I’d given you every chance and every reason to leave me, but you were still here.  I told him you wanted me here because you love me and you love the baby. And I told him just because he’s lonely and unwilling to love and unhappy that doesn’t mean that you’re like him. I said that he needed to shut up and get the hell out of the flat before you showed up and beat the shite out of him for making me upset!” She was in full crying mode by the end, complete with sniffles and flushed skin.

Sherlock gaped at her.  “You said that?”

She nodded.  “It’s the truth.”

“And what did he say in return?”

“Nothing,” she sniffed. 

“Nothing?” Sherlock pushed her away to get a good look at her face.  “He didn’t counter your argument?”

Molly shook her head.  “He just sort of pursed his lips and made that face that looks like he’s about to pass gas and then left.”

Still shocked, Sherlock searched her face, his eyes taking in all her features from her runny nose to her tear streaked cheeks.  “Then why are you crying?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” she moaned and buried her face in his chest again. “I cry at cat food advertisements, for God’s sake.  The idea of your only brother saying shitty things about you doesn’t sit well with my unstable emotions.”

After a moment, she felt Sherlock’s chest shake a little. “Are you laughing at me?” she asked, looking up at him.

“No, certainly not,” Sherlock said, stiffening and putting on a stern face. 

“Yes, you are.”

A smile broke through on his handsome face.  “Well, really, can you blame me?  The idea of Mycroft being put in his place by a five foot three inch woman who’s unarmed, clothed in a torn t-shirt and pants with kittens on them, thirty-five weeks pregnant, and on bed rest would be very entertaining to watch. I would have liked to have seen it.”

She looked at him a moment and then returned the smile.  “You didn’t do the laundry.”

“What?”

“Why I’m dressed like this.  You didn’t do the laundry, and I can’t carry the basket downstairs.”

He chuckled at her and leaned in to kiss her lips. “I’m sorry, I’ll get it done.”

But when he tried to pull away, Molly tugged on his shirt to bring him back for a longer, more intense kiss.  She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him as close as was possible. She slid down in the bed, bringing him with her, never breaking from the heated kiss.  Her hands roamed over his back and downward to give his ass a solid squeeze.  His leg instinctively separated hers, and she welcomed the sensation of his erection pressed against her hip. 

“Molly,” he said with a groan pulling himself away from her.

Her breath was ragged and she sobbed a little, still somewhat crying from the conversation about Mycroft.  “I hate hormones,” she moaned.

Which only made Sherlock chuckled again.  A piercing glance from Molly was all it took to earn a soft, “I’m sorry.”

She shifted to lie on her side, as did Sherlock. “I feel like a crazy person.”

“Well, you are, but that’s to be expected.”

“When I heard him come in, I thought it was you.  I was so excited to tell you about the contents of the man’s stomach from the autopsy report, and then he went and spoiled it all.”

“I have to wonder…”

“At what was in the stomach?”

“No,” Sherlock looked puzzled.  “Well, yes.  But I wonder why Mycroft would say such things when I’ve already told him to piss off.”

The revelation came as something of a surprise.  When had he done that, anyway? “He probably doesn’t like you telling him to piss off.  He liked being bossed around even less than you do! And I don’t think he really likes me.”

Sherlock hummed in thought.  “Still, it’s curious.”   Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked down at Molly.  “What was in his stomach?”

“Caviar.”

“Which fits with his profile."

“And it’s a rare white kind called Almas caviar.  It’s only sold at a few places, so that limits your search.”

Sherlock smiled at her and brushed her hair away from her face, wiping off the remnants of tears from her eyes in the process.  “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.

“Maybe not, but you’re stuck with me. Hormones and all.”

“Indeed. The hormones are tolerable given the fact that you’ll tell Mycroft to piss off, not to mention that you can find exactly what I need to know about a victim.  I don’t deserve you.” He brushed a gentle kiss across his lips and looked into her eyes.  “Molly, I… I hope you know…”  He swallowed. “I want you to know that I… I love you.”

Their eyes met, and Molly wondered at how unusual it was for Sherlock to hesitate over his words.  She swore Sherlock was going to say more, but he didn’t.  He simply pulled her close and held her in his arms until she fell asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Early


	21. Early

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BENEDICT IS A DADDY! I wish I could have posted the NEXT chapter on the day it was announced that Bene's son was born, but I still had this chapter to post. So I waited. Still, I think it's great to give Sherlock a son around the same time Bene is getting his own son in reality! 
> 
> Also, in this chapter you will see the scene from Molly's PoV as usual. Then at the end you will see some bits from Sherlock's PoV that will fill in some blanks. I have several of these "behind the scene" type moments to share with you. This one happens within the context of the chapter. There others are actual moments that happened when Molly wasn't around. I wrote them partly for my own benefit, but I figured you'd probably enjoy them, too. 
> 
> Many thanks to:  
> Shopgirl909 for being an amazing beta reader!
> 
> WayTooEasilyObsesssed, SempreConAmore, incredibad, lilsherlockian1975, oOkatiekindOo, Sherlockian_87, Kathryn_bjordahl_1991, leidibrf, sadieblu72, Arcoiris, tobetheone, and Icecat62 for the comments!
> 
> Sherlocked_in_Tegas for the bookmarks! 
> 
> Alasify, MargaSofrona, WayTooEasilyObsessed, Herstory_Angel, and Sherlolly29_belle for the kudos!

21 – Early

_Almost home.  I’ll explain when I get there. SH_

Molly let go a deep sigh of relief when she read the text. She’d only sent him about a dozen texts in the last two hours asking where he was and what was going on. Sure, he had cases that went late in the past, but it wasn’t like him to not answer a text. And she needed him to answer because…

The tightening in her abdomen and twinge of pain that accompanied it left her momentarily breathless, lasting longer than all the others had lasted. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t comfortable, and it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. She exhaled slowly as her body returned to normal just as the door to the flat opened and closed.

“Sherlock?” she called.

He entered the bedroom looking completely worn down and tired, his hair mussed and his normally crisp suit rumpled. “If you have complaints, send them to Lestrade.” He kicked off his shoes and left them in the middle of the floor instead of putting them in the closet.  “I’ve spent the last five hours trying to convince the entirety of the police department that I’m clean.”  His suit coat came off next and was tossed on the chair rather than placed on a hanger.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He began unbuttoning his shirt.  “Just as I had deduced, the man we have been trying to catch seemed to have a rather profound drug addiction, and when I say profound I mean that his stash of drugs could support a family of five or six for about ten years.” The shirt was dropped onto the floor.

“Cocaine?” She asked.

“Coke, meth, acid, opium.  The man clearly wasn’t particular, which is odd for an addict.” He slipped off his belt and unzipped his pants, which he let fall in a heap as he stepped out of them. “He had this secret room at the back of his property that was every junkie’s dream come true.  And of course, I located it before anyone else.”  His voice rose in volume as he headed to the bathroom and turned on the water. “That was a mistake, obviously, but I had been hired to help the police find this man and determine the extent of his criminal activity.  I was only doing what they asked me to do.”

He came back in the room and went to his coat pocket to get out his phone. “But since I had also done as you requested and waited for the police to arrive before I tried to track him down, that meant that the police were there when I discovered his recreational room, so to speak.  Given the amount of narcotics and drug paraphernalia in the room, my coat brushed up against something and remnants of some coke transferred to the fabric. Anderson walked in and found me in a room full of drugs with drugs on my coat, so naturally, I must have taken some out of the room for my own personal use.”  He plugged in his phone and proceeded to crawl into bed with a groan and a sigh. 

“What?! You didn’t, did you?”

“I swear on my life, Molly, I’ve been clean for almost three years now, but would they believe me? NO!”  He yawned deeply and collapsed face first into his pillow.  He turned his head to look at her, his eyes weary and ready for sleep. “They put me in an interrogation room and actually questioned me like a criminal.  They took my coat, which had my phone in it, so they could determine what exactly I had supposedly taken.  Thus, I was without my phone, again, despite of the fact that I’ve discussed it with Lestrade that should I ever have to turn over my coat or my suit coat, I would at least be granted use of my phone first!  I told them the drug in questions was coke, because I know coke, which proves that honesty isn’t always the best policy.” He yawned again. “I let them do a drug test to prove I was clean, and if John hadn’t been there to toss profanities at Lestrade, I think I would still be in that damn room.”

Molly brushed the curls away from his face.  “After everything you’ve done to prove yourself, they still think you’d do something like that?”

“I killed a man, Molly,” he mumbled.  “I’m a murderer and a drug addict.  That’s the type of person of whom even I would be suspicious, regardless of recent lifestyle changes.”  He shifted and turned to a more comfortable position.  “In fact, the pending birth of our son actually plays into the idea that I would return to my old habits, even though I haven’t.” He exhaled slowly. “I think the turning point was when I told them all I’d be a damn fool to do something so stupid that would cause you to leave me.”  His eyes were closed and his voice was very sleepy.  “I wouldn’t trade you for a lousy hit of cocaine.”

Molly chewed on her lip, knowing he was telling her the truth and moved by the sentiment.  But her real concern was telling him that now wasn’t exactly the time to go to sleep. “Sherlock,” she said softly. “I need to talk to you about something.”

He grumbled something that sounded like, “Wait till morning,” but she couldn’t be sure since his face was now buried into his pillow and turned slightly away from her.  She started to turn away from him when – BAM – a solid pain surged right though her middle causing her to gasp out loud.

Sherlock’s head lifted off his pillow as he looked at her body, slightly hunched over with hands pressed against her tight belly.

“No,” he said.  “No, no.  _No_ , no, _no_ , no, NO!!! Not tonight. Please, not tonight!”

Molly glanced at him, trying to steady her breathing. “Sherlock…”

He sat up and leaned over her belly saying, “Can’t you wait one more night, little man?  Let your father get a good night’s rest before we meet face to face?” He placed his hand over Molly’s extended belly and stopped cold.  “Good lord, you’re as hard as a rock!”

“I’m having a contraction,” she said as the pain began to lessen. A few deep breaths and the sensation ended.  “See, now it’s back to normal.”

Sherlock looked into her eyes.  “That wasn’t the first, though.  How long have you been in labour?”

She shrugged, “A few hours.”

“A few—” Now Sherlock was sitting straight up in the bed. “Why didn’t you text me?!”

“I did!”

He grabbed his phone and read the last few messages.  “Where are you?  Can you text?  Please let me know when you’ll be home.  I don’t see anything here about being in labour.”

“I didn’t think that would be the best thing to put in a text message.”

He rolled his eyes and slumped down next to her.  “How far apart are the contractions?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes still.  It’s going to be a while, so you can get some rest.  Try to sleep for an hour or two and I’ll just—”

“Molly, I may be self-centered and conceited, but I’m not a complete asshole. I’m not going to sleep while you labour to bring our son into the world. Good God.” He rubbed at his eyes and asked, “Are you sure this is the real thing?  Could it be false labour?"

“I’m pretty sure.  That last contraction hurt worse than all the others.”

“Ok, well then…” He looked at his phone and touched the screen before putting it to his ear.  “Lestrade, I need you to send a car to Baker Street in the next thirty minutes or so to take Molly and me to Barts.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Well let’s see, why would a woman in her thirty-ninth week of pregnancy need to go to the hospital?”

A pause as Greg responded.

“Yes, I’ve heard it described as such. But more to the point, given that you detained me for hours on end tonight worrying Molly as she sat here having contraction after contraction, I think its only fair for you to provide us with a car.”

He must have said he would since Sherlock’s only reply was, “Good,” before hanging up the phone.  He sighed and then selected another number.

After a moment, Molly could hear an angry voice on the other end of the line.

“No one is dying, John, but rather someone is being born,” Sherlock said into the phone.  “Yes, I came home to find Molly in labour, and I figured I should tell you right away so that you could plan your day accordingly.  I assume you and Mary will want to see the baby.”

Molly could hear some excited chatting.

“Twenty minutes or so.  It’s going to be awhile.”

Sherlock suddenly looked away from Molly, his voice dropping a near octave in tone. “Yes, of course.”  He kept his gaze on his hands.  “Yes,” Sherlock said again quietly.  And then he turned and looked directly into Molly’s eyes. “I will.” Then, “I will,” again. “Thank you, John.” He smiled at her as he hung up.  “John and Mary will come later.”

“What did he say?” Molly asked.

“Just that I’m to do everything you tell me to do for a while,” he smiled again and turned his attention back to the phone. “Going off of that, I need to know if you want your mother to come down because she’s going to ask.”

Molly moaned softly in worry and turned her face into the pillow.  Sherlock and Ellen Hooper didn’t exactly get along.  He tolerated her for Molly’s sake, but if he didn’t have to spend time with her, then he wouldn’t.  In the last few months, every time Ellen came down to check in on her daughter and help with baby shopping and what not, Sherlock had managed to be conveniently busy with a case. Ellen didn’t think the world of Sherlock either, but her issue was more on the lines that he got Molly pregnant and didn’t do the right thing by Ellen’s standards and marry her right away. Never mind the number of times Molly told her mother that Sherlock loved her and cared for her, Molly knew her mother would never be convinced without a marriage certificate.

“Molly?” Sherlock asked.  “What should I tell your mother?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll say whatever you want.”

“I know you don’t get along well with her. I don’t want the day to be stressful.”

“Darling, the day will be stressful with or without your mother.”

“Yes, but I don’t think she should stay here, and she’ll want to stay for a few days, I’m sure.”

Sherlock leaned on his elbow so that his face was very close to her.  “Molly, you’re going to have a baby.  Today. Yes, I’ll be there, and yes, it is an important day for me, and yes, some people irritate me more than others. But you will be doing the work, darling. _You_ are going to have this baby.  Now, do you want your mother here or not?”

Molly felt the beginning of tears stinging in her eyes and nodded her head yes.

Sherlock nodded and tapped the screen on his phone. As the line rang he asked, “Will you want to talk to her?

Knowing she’d break into tears, Molly shook her head no.

“Hello, Ellen.  It’s Sherlock.  I’m sorry for waking you up, but Molly has gone into labour and she’s asking for you to come down.”

Molly could hear her mother’s excitement and worry. “She’s fine, really. It’s still early, so it’s going to be a while before there’s any significant information.”

The muffled sound of her mother’s voice said something else.  “Yes. I’ll arrange for a hotel room so you won’t have to worry about that.  I’ll text you in a while with that information as well as any news as to the progression of the delivery.” 

Sherlock glanced at Molly, “I promise you, she will be fine.”  Her mother must have asked to talk to her as Sherlock said, “No, she’s getting ready to go to the hospital and can’t talk.” Another comment from her mother. “We’ll be on our way as soon as the car arrives.  Truly, there isn’t anything to worry about.  Molly will have the best care, you have my word.”  Sherlock suddenly looked confused and said “I’ll tell her. We’ll see you later today then.” He ended the call without saying good-bye. 

“What did she say?”

“If you wanted to know what she said,” Sherlock said, “then you should have asked to actually talk to her personally.” He sighed upon seeing Molly’s face and said, “She told me to take care of you and that she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

Sherlock sat up a bit straighter and touched the screen on the phone for a forth time.  “Sorry to wake you at such an ungodly hour, but I thought that you both might like to know that you’re about to become grandparents.”

His parents…and they must have asked about her well being for Sherlock said, “She’s fine.  It’s a bit early still, so it will be quite a while I suppose before there’s any real news to report.  I just wanted you and mummy to have time to pack your things to come into London for a day or so.  I’ll have a hotel for you when you arrive.”  Then a pause. “It won’t be a problem, I assure you.”

After another pause, Sherlock quickly scrambled out of bed and stood on the far side of the room with his back to Molly. “Mother, now really isn’t the time.” What was Violet saying to him? “Mother, I really need to focus on Molly right now.”  He seemed a bit upset by whatever she was saying.  “I know, and I appreciate your concern.  Believe me when I say that everything will be fine.”  The conversation was beginning to worry Molly.  “I do realize that.  Yes. Everything will be…fine. Trust me.”

There was a long pause in which Molly assumed Violet Holmes was giving her son a long, heart felt lecture only a mother could give to her son on the day he was to become a father.  Whatever was being said obviously moved him in some way. He seemed embarrassed almost when he said, “I will.  And I’ll see you soon.”

He ended the call and looked at Molly. “Why is it that everyone seems to think…?”

“What?”

Sherlock shook his head.  “No, we won’t worry with it now.  I have one more call to make.” He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over her stomach.  “Are you doing well?  Any more contractions yet?”

“No, and I’m fine.  I should get my bag ready.”  She got out of bed and went to the closet to grab the bag of essentials she had packed a week ago.  When she headed into the bathroom to get her toiletries, she heard Sherlock making his fifth and final phone call.

“I need two hotel rooms near Barts for the next three days. Knightsbridge would be preferable.  One room in the name of Ellen Hooper and the other for Mr. and Mrs. William Holmes.”

Molly figured he was making reservations until he said, “Why else would our parents be coming into London?”

She stiffened. He’d called Mycroft.

“I warned you about your insults once.  I will not tolerate any more.” A pause. “Not for a while yet.” Another pause. “Why wouldn’t you be able to sleep?” Sherlock groaned and lashed out saying, “And I wouldn’t dream of allowing you anywhere near Molly or my son for a good long while as long as you talk and behave like an arrogant ass.”

Molly smiled.

Sherlock’s voice was hushed and tense as he said, “There isn’t any danger and hasn’t been for a few weeks now. I’m not putting on any pretense. Yes, I have a duty to Molly and our child, which I will gladly fulfill.  So Mycroft, until the day comes when you have grown a heart and managed any emotion deeper than aloof annoyance, when you’ve learned how to care for another living thing without provocation, when you’ve found yourself holding the living embodiment of the profound intimacy you’ve shared with a woman, then and only then will I allow you to comment on my own capabilities as a father. Now, if you want to see my son after he is born, you will behave yourself and treat Molly with kindness and respect. Otherwise, don’t bother coming up.”

Molly exhaled the breath she had been holding.  Hearing Sherlock defend her and put Mycroft in his place made her heart soar. But the joy she felt was overshadowed by the pain that seized her across the middle.  She gasped and doubled over. 

Sherlock was right there, wrapping his arms around her to help support her body. “Breathe,” he said softly.

“That was a strong one,” she said as the pain subsided.

“Lestrade is outside waiting.  He drove over and will personally take us to Barts if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” she nodded.

Sherlock, who had obvious dressed in a rush, put her bag over his shoulder and offered her his other arm.  “In case your feel woozy.”

As they neared the front door, Molly stopped and looked up at him.  “The next time we come home, there will be three of us.”

“Yes,” Sherlock smiled.

“I’m suddenly afraid, not of giving birth but of everything else.  Aren’t you… afraid?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said.  “But that’s normal, isn’t it?”  Anyone who isn’t afraid of parenthood is a liar.”

Molly exhaled slowly.  “Ok then. Let’s go.”

As they headed down the stairs, he loudly called out, “Mrs. Hudson! We’re heading to Barts! Thought you should know!”

A squeal of delight followed by, “Oh, a baby!  I love babies!” was the last sound they heard as the door to 221B Baker St. closed. 

 

**NOTE:

When writing phone calls, especially important phone calls, I always have to figure out what’s being said on the other end of the line. Since this was Molly’s PoV, I knew that she wouldn’t hear the conversations, but I went ahead and wrote them out anyway.  I figured someone might be interested in reading the full phone conversations as I think they add a bit of dimension to what Sherlock’s going through.  Thus, I call this a BEHIND THE SCENES look at the phone calls.

 

September 10: BEHIND THE SCENES!! 

_Phone call #1- Lestrade_

“Lestrade, I need you to send a car to Baker Street in the next thirty minutes or so to take Molly and me to Barts.”

“Why? What’s wrong?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the brilliance of the man, “Well let’s see, why would a woman in her thirty-ninth week of pregnancy need to go to the hospital?”

“She’s in labour? Bloody hell!”

“Yes, I’ve heard it described as such. But more to the point, given that you detained me for hours on end tonight worrying Molly as she sat here having contraction after contraction, I think its only fair for you to provide us with a car.”

“Of course. I’ll send someone right now.”

“Good.”

 

_Phone call #2 - John_

“Sherlock, I swear to God, you know damn well that I just got home.  It’s two in the morning, so someone had better be dying or I’m going to kill you myself!” John’s harsh voice sounded rough on the phone.

“No one is dying, John, but rather someone is being born.”

There was a moment of silence before he said, “Oh God, really?”

“Yes, I came home to find Molly in labour, and I figured I should tell you right away so that you could plan your day accordingly. I assume you and Mary will want to see the baby.”

“Of course we will!” It was Mary’s voice that answered.

“Of course, Sherlock,” John repeated taking the phone from her.  How far apart are the contractions?”

“Twenty minutes or so. It’s going to be awhile.”

“Ok, so I want you to listen to me.” John’s voice dropped in volume as if he didn’t want anyone but Sherlock to hear what he was saying. “She’s not going to be herself today, Sherlock.  You have to let go of every oddball thing that comes out of her mouth.  Don’t question it, just do what she asks. She’s going to do something today that you and I will never quite understand, and it’s going to hurt like hell. And she’s probably going to blame you! So if she asks for water, you go fetch water.  If she tells you to shut up, you shut up! Do you understand me?”

Sherlock looked away from Molly as John spoke.  “Yes, of course.”

“I’m serious, Sherlock.  I know that you don’t do well when other people are barking orders, but today is not about you.  In fact, the next several weeks are not about you.  It’s about Molly and your son and you’ve got to take a deep breath and do what she needs you to do for a while, ok?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said quietly, trying to take in the seriousness of John’s tone through the sleepiness that he felt.

“Don’t…don’t panic.  It’s going to be a long day and an even longer next few weeks. But you can do this. She loves you, Sherlock. She loves you completely and let that get you through the next few weeks, ok?”

Sherlock looked over at Molly now, reminding himself that she did love him and that she had faith in him.  After everything he’d done to push her away, he’d managed to convince her to stay.  She could walk away at any moment, but she stayed because she loved him.  “I will.”

“So just… you know… send us a text when she’s eight or nine centimeters if you can and we’ll come.”

“I will. Thank you, John.” Sherlock said before hanging up.

 

_Phone call #3 – Ellen_

“Hello?” the sleep voice asked.

“Hello, Ellen.  It’s Sherlock.  I’m sorry for waking you up, but Molly has gone into labour and she’s asking for you to come down.”

“Oh, my goodness!  Is she all right?  Is she doing well? How far along is she?”

“She’s fine, really.  It’s still early, so it’s going to be a while before there’s any significant information.”

“Oh, goodness.  My baby is having a baby!” There had to be tears involved from the way her voice broke.  “And she wants me there?”

“Yes.  I’ll arrange for a hotel room so you won’t have to worry about that. I’ll text you in a while with that information as well as any news as to the progression of the delivery.”

“Thank you.  But Sherlock, you had better take very good care of my little girl!” Again, it was obvious she was crying.  “I know you only see her as a woman, but she’s my little girl.  Please be good to her!  She loves you so much!”

Sherlock glanced at Molly, “I promise you, she will be fine.”

“Can I talk to her, please?”

“No, she’s getting ready to go to the hospital and can’t talk.”

“What? She’s not at the hospital? Why haven’t you taken her to the hospital?”

“We’ll be on our way as soon as the car arrives. Truly, there isn’t anything to worry about.  Molly will have the best care, you have my word.”

“Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can and that she’s allowed to make demands today even if you don’t like them.”

Sherlock puzzled at the statement but said, “I’ll tell her.  We’ll see you later today then.”  He ended the call before Ellen had a chance to express her displeasure at Molly’s choice of partner.

 

_Phone call #4 – Mum and Dad_

“Sorry to wake you at such an ungodly hour, but I thought that you both might like to know that you’re about to become grandparents.”

His father gasped in pleasure. “Wake up, love. It’s Sherlock. Molly’s gone into labour!”

His mother’s voice could be heard quite clearly saying, “Oh, that’s wonderful! How is she doing?”

“How is Molly doing?” his father repeated.

“She’s fine.  It’s a bit early still, so it will be quite a while I suppose before there’s any real news to report.  I just wanted you and mummy to have time to pack your things to come into London for a day or so.  I’ll have a hotel for you when you arrive.”

“Sherlock, don’t worry about such nonsense. You need to focus on Molly and that baby and not piddle paddle around with getting hotel rooms. We’re perfectly capable of doing that,” his father said. 

“It won’t be a problem, I assure you.”

“Let me talk to him,” his mother said. “Sherlock, dear, I know you asked me not to say anything, but you and Molly are about to become parents and I don’t understand why you’re waiting to ask her—”

“Mother, now really isn’t the time.” Sherlock stood up, trying to get the phone and his mother’s voice away from Molly and the possibility that she might hear what his mother was saying. 

“Yes, it is.  And don’t you dare tell me I’m being old fashioned in my thinking. If you hadn’t already told me you wanted this, I wouldn’t even push it. Babies are born all the time to couples in various states of relationships.  But at Christmas and then after Valentine’s Day with the baby coming, well Sherlock, I’m just surprised that you haven’t yet—”

“Mother, I really need to focus on Molly right now.”

“That’s my point exactly!”

“I know, and I appreciate your concern. Believe me when I say that everything will be fine.”

“Just don’t mess this up, dear. She is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and if you don’t realize that then you are far from the observant genius that you claim to be.”

“I do realize that.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Everything will be…fine. Trust me.”

His mother tutted at him.  “Once you see that baby, everything will change, Sherlock. Once you see Molly holding that baby, your perspective will change.  I know you think you have it all figured out, but children have the tendency to rearrange your views and set you on a completely new and uncharted path. I know responsibility hasn’t always been a great virtue of yours, but you need to take up that mantel and be a real adult now.  I love you, Sherlock. I know you love Molly, and I know you love your son.  Now do what’s right for all three of you.”

“I will,” Sherlock promised. “And I’ll see you soon.”

 

_Phone call #5 – Mycroft_

“Yes?” The annoyance was palpable even through the phone line.

“I need two hotel rooms near Barts for the next three days. Knightsbridge would be preferable.  One room in the name of Ellen Hooper and the other for Mr. and Mrs. William Holmes.”

“I take it parenthood is forthcoming.” 

“Why else would our parents be coming into London?”

“Perhaps for early nuptials to legitimize your relationship and child?”

“I warned you about your insults once.  I will not tolerate any more.”

“It’s not an insult, but rather a statement of fact. Yet I will refrain from addressing it further.  How soon can we expect the little bundle of joy?”

“Not for a while yet.”

“Good, I can still get some sleep.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to sleep?”

“Because I’ll be expected at the hospital for most of the day.  I wouldn’t dream of missing your first moments facing a life of biological obligation.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of allowing you anywhere near Molly or my son for a good long while as long as you talk and behave like an arrogant ass.”

“Oh come now, Sherlock.  We both know you’re only putting on the pretense of the dutiful father until Molly delivers and the baby is out of danger.”

“There isn’t any danger and hasn’t been for a few weeks now. I’m not putting on any pretense. Yes, I have a duty to Molly and our child, which I will gladly fulfill.  So Mycroft, until the day comes when you have grown a heart and managed any emotion deeper than aloof annoyance, when you’ve learned how to care for another living thing without provocation, when you’ve found yourself holding the living embodiment of the profound intimacy you’ve shared with a woman, then and only then will I allow you to comment on my own capabilities as a father. Now, if you want to see my son after he is born you will behave yourself and treat Molly with kindness and respect. Otherwise, don’t bother coming up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? I'd love to hear from you about what you thought about knowing both sides of the phone call conversations. Was there a favorite phone call? Was there a favorite piece of advice? 
> 
> Next chapter: Name


	22. Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock discuss names...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope this one makes up for all the torment I've put Molly and Sherlock though. It was pointed out to me by my wonderful beta reader that in England couples have a week or so to name their baby. This put a wrench in my plans. Thus, for the purpose of having this chapter work out the way I wanted it to work out, I kind of ignored that bit of information. Apologies to Brit pickers for that, but I hope you can forgive me when you see why. 
> 
> MANY MANY THANKS TO:
> 
> Shopgirl909 for being an amazing beta reader!
> 
> leidibrf, sadieblu72, Mandy95, Sherlockian_87, Icecat62, gabriella_t, Alyshaluz, Kathryn_bjordahl_1991, Jen, WayTooEasilyObsesssed, Sherlollyfan, Cordelia, Arcoiris, Herstory_Angel, Keeptheotehrone, and emmajoe for the comments!
> 
> Dmdiane, AlexaRaven, and rowhibbler for the bookmarks! 
> 
> Sthrngrlsrck, redtartart, and dora_writes for the kudos!

22 – Name

Molly gazed into the tiny wrinkled face of her son in wonderment.  Only a few hours ago, this little person in her arms had been inside her.  And a few months ago, this little person hadn’t even existed.  Now, here he was - plump, pink, and perfect – all eight pounds and ten ounces of him. It was remarkable to consider that he would be hers for the rest of her life.  And for the rest of her life, she would share this unimaginable yet glorious link with Sherlock.   

She glanced up at him as he came into the room.  He looked as exhausted as Molly felt, with dark shadows under his eyes and hair all mussed and wild.  However, in spite of her weariness, Molly had no desire to sleep.  She just wanted to look at her baby and hold her baby and coo at her baby. 

“Everyone’s gone home or to the hotel,” he said through a yawn, pulling a chair up close to the side of the bed.

“I’m so glad they all got to be here tonight.  I expected my mother would take the prize for the most excitedly happy tears shed, but I really think that goes to your father.”

“He’s always been overly sentimental and emotional.” Sherlock touched the top of the baby’s head. “How’s the little man doing?”

Molly’s smile filled her whole face, as it did every time she spoke about the baby. “He’s perfect. He ate very well the nurse said. I seem to be a natural at breastfeeding. Now he’s just getting acquainted to this new life of his.”

“I told you he would have your nose.”

“He might have my nose, but he has everything else of yours. The dark hair—”

“You have dark hair.”

“— with curls. The blue eyes—”

“Most babies have blue eyes.”

“— that are almost grey.  And that mouth. You can’t deny that mouth came from you, Sherlock.  No, there’s no way anyone could ever question his paternity.”

Sherlock scowled.  “Was that ever in doubt?”

“Just that if ever anyone did question it, you know.”

“Why would they question it?”

“Sherlock, they didn’t.  No one did. I was just saying he looks like you.”

They were both quiet for a moment until Sherlock added, “He has your coloring, though, and your jaw line.”  She was certain he felt guilty for having dominant genes and was trying to prove that their son was an even combination of them both.

“He’s so beautiful,” she sighed.

“Not as beautiful as his mother,” Sherlock countered.

Molly made a face at him.  “Stop.  I’m a complete wreck.”

“You’re completely beautiful,” he said, leaning in to brush a soft kiss on her cheek.  “Honestly, Molly, don’t argue about this.  Forget the clothes and the make up and the hair.  I’m looking at the pure beauty of an amazing woman who has just done the most miraculous and monumental thing she will ever do in her entire life.”

She shook her head.  “I appreciate that. I do, but I didn’t do anything that millions of woman haven’t done before me and millions of women will do after me.”

Sherlock stroked the baby’s cheek and played with his hair. “Don’t belittle this moment, darling.  What you hold in your hands is nothing short of a miracle.  Do you know how many problems and birth defects and complications happen during pregnancy and delivery?  Bed rest is a gift compared to what could have gone wrong.  We have a perfectly health, strong, thriving baby. You are well and looking better every hour.”  He paused and cupped his hand on the baby’s tiny face.  “Don’t make this out to be anything less than the miracle it is.”

“Are you getting sentimental?”

“You’re holding my new born son.  I think sentiment is impossible to avoid in a situation like this.”

They sat quietly, taking in the baby’s small movements and soft noises. Their eyes would meet from time to time in a wordless declaration of devotion and reverence before returning focus on the tiny infant.

“I beg your pardon,” a nurse said popping into the room. “I need to make sure all the information is correct for the birth certificate.”

Sherlock took the paper work from her and glanced over it. “My given name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes, not just Sherlock Holmes.  And you have Hamish spelled wrong in the baby’s name. There’s only one ‘m.’”

“And William David Hamish Holmes is the correct name then?” she asked, and Molly hopped Sherlock wouldn’t notice how she tensed up.

As his head turned to look at her, she knew he’d sensed her dismay. “What’s wrong? That was the name we agreed on, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s fine,” Molly said, trying to brush it off.

“Can you give us a moment,” Sherlock asked of the nurse.  When she was gone from the room he scooted forward on his chair. “If you don’t like the baby’s name, you need to tell me.  Once it’s done, we can’t change it very easily.  So, it’s best to speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Molly winced at his word choice.  “The name is fine, Sherlock.”

“First born sons take the name of the paternal grandfather, which is William. You asked to use your father’s name as well, which is David.  Hamish is for John because William David John sounds too biblical.  If you don’t like those names, you have to tell me.”

“I did tell you.  The names are fine.” She wanted him to just drop it.

“Then why—” He looked from her face down to the baby and then back up. “Holmes?” The name sounded very loud all of a sudden.  “You don’t want him to be named Holmes?”

“Sherlock, can we please just let it go?”

“No, we can’t.  Why wouldn’t you want him to have my name?  He’s my son. He should have my name.”

“He’s my son, too,” she said quickly.

Sherlock looked more than a little hurt. “You want his name to be Hooper?”

“I don’t want to go through life explaining that I have one name and my son has another.  I want people to know he belongs to me by looking at his name.  I don’t want any confusion.  I imagine introducing myself as Molly Hooper to his teachers and such and then having to correct them when they call him William Hooper.  It’s maddening, and I just want the names to match. We could hyphenate it even."

The frown on Sherlock’s face had deepened as she spoke. “William David Hamish Hooper-Holmes?  No. It’s a ridiculous amount of H’s. His last name is Holmes.”

“Are you saying you don’t think I’m entitled to have the same last name as my son?”

“No, I think you make a valid point and should have the same last name as your son.”

Molly looked at him slightly confused.  “Then you do agree to hyphenate the name?”

“No,” he said matter-of-factly, which caused her anger was really start to rise.

“Sherlock, you just said you thought his name should match mine, but you won’t hyphenate it?”

“No, because there won’t be a need for it.”

“But if his name is Holmes, then…” Their eyes met, and Molly went very still. 

“Then your name should be Holmes, too.”

She wasn’t going to assume anything.  She couldn’t.  “People don’t just change their names.”

“Sure they do.  Women change their names all the time.”

“Yes, but only when they get married.”

“Then marry me.”

The statement had come easily with no fanfare.  She searched his face for signs that he was joking and only found sincerity.  Still, she had to be sure.  Before she completely lost it emotionally and came undone at the seams, she had to ask, “Are you being serious?”

Crossing over to where his coat was hanging, Sherlock reached into the pocket and pulled something out.  He walked back over to the bedside, sat down on the edge of the bed facing her, and opened up the black box to reveal a diamond ring. 

The gasp that escaped Molly’s throat registered both shock and amazement. The ring was obviously an older style, antique even, with a large circular diamond placed in a setting that made it look more square than round.  On the sides were three additional chip diamonds that framed the center stone perfectly.  

“It was my grandmother’s,” Sherlock explained.  “It should have gone to Mycroft, but I think you and I both know he’ll never have use for it.  I told my mother as much when I asked at Christmas if I could give it to you.”

“Christmas?” Her voice squeaked.

“Yes, part of the reason I didn’t mind visiting my parents was because I needed to collect the ring so that I could have it sized in time for Valentine’s Day.”

“Valentine’s Day?”  She squeaked in an even higher pitch.

“Yes, the plan was to propose to you on Valentine’s Day, complete with flowers and champagne and getting on one knee in front of a restaurant full of people. I knew you would like that sort of an overly, grand, starry-eyed type of gesture and thought it would prove to you that I can be typically romantic when necessary.”

He’d said everything so casually it actually made Molly a bit angry. “Then why didn’t you propose?”

“Well, you got pregnant and suggested that I would neither want nor care for a baby or the type of relationship that would lead to parenthood. I had known that you had doubts about my ability to admit to how deeply I felt about you, but it came as quite the shock to hear you state that you not only would accept my refusal to care for a child, but that you’d walk away without so much as a fight.”

She’d known that conversation had done more damage than he’d let on. Hearing him recount the statements she had made in light of the fact that he’d been planning a proposal brought tears to her eyes.  “Why didn’t you propose when we made up?  I told you I was wrong. We stayed together. We went to dinner on Valentine’s Day.”

He leaned over to the side table and pulled a tissue out of the box and handed it to her.  “Had I proposed to you just after that wretched conversation, you would have thought I was proposing out of obligation and duty rather than desire.  You would have spent our marriage believing that I only married you in order to legitimize our son, when that simply is not the case.”

“And you thought now would be a good time to propose?” The squeak had returned.

“Well, there were other instances that confirmed I’d made the correct choice. First of all, you were put on bed rest and were told to avoid complications and stress.  Had I asked you, we’d be faced with postponing the ceremony anyway. That or the ceremony would be very different from what you’d intended.  I know you are just the dreamy type of woman who probably had her wedding planned since she was seven years old with a flowered walk down the aisle of a church wearing a dress fit for royalty.  I didn’t want you to face refusal from an opinionated holier-than-thou minister who might look down on you for being pregnant outside of wedlock, nor did I want you to have to compromise your plans in the gown department for a dress that would fit a rounded baby bump. Also, I assumed you still doubted me when you expressed concerns over my missing your doctor’s appointments and how you assumed the way I was avoiding sleeping with you as a sign I no longer was attracted to you.”

“Sherlock, no!” she cried.  “That’s not—”

“But your conversation – or rather your confutation of Mycroft solidified your understanding and acceptance that I do, indeed, love you very much and want to be with you and our child always.  I very nearly proposed that night,” he admitted. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“What would you have said?”

“YES! I would have said yes!”

“And then what?”

Molly blinked.  “What do you mean?”

“You were thirty-five weeks pregnant, darling.  You would have insisted we get married as soon as possible, which again would mean compromising your long-term desires where a wedding is concerned. I didn’t want you to feel as if you had to rush.”

She dabbed at her eyes and looked down at the infant in her arms. “So you felt that right now - when I’m tired and sore and a mess, both emotionally and physically, from just having delivered a baby -  that _now_ was the right time to ask me to marry you?”

“You want to name him Hopper-Holmes,” he said as if that explained everything.

“But Sherlock…” She felt the sob ready to burst from her and inhaled sharply to hold it in.

He scooted a little closer to her and rubbed his hands down her arms in a comforting gesture.  “Darling, I don’t think there will ever be a perfect time.  I’ve second guessed it too often to count and won’t suffer though it anymore. Now, I ask you – even though I don’t deserve you - will you please do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

The nod of her head came first followed my a soft, hushed, “Yes.”

The smile that lit up Sherlock’s face was the biggest and brightest Molly had ever seen.  He took her left hand and slipped the diamond ring onto her third finger and then laid a kiss on her hand before shifting his attention over to the tiny figure in her arms.

“Did you hear that, little man?  She said yes.”  He kissed the baby’s forehead and then leaned in to kiss Molly with as much delicate reverence as he had kissed William. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the baby's names: I do a bit of genealogy. It's an old rule of thumb that the first son is named after the father's father. The second son is named after the mother's father. The third son is named after the father. I gave Sherlock's father the name William because that is Sherlock's true first name... which implies that he is the THIRD son rather than the second. This is based on Mycroft's line in season 3 about "the other one" which many of us believe refers to another Holmes brother. Thus, Sherlock's son would be named for Sherlock's father, which gives Sherlock and his son the same first name. Molly insisted that her father be represented as well in the name because she's not certain if there will be a second baby just yet. After all, she wasn't expecting a marriage proposal let alone the chance for another baby. I hope that sits well with everyone.
> 
> Also, if you'd like to see how I imagine Molly's ring to look, try this link:
> 
> http://fiftieswedding.com/engagement-rings-vintage-or-modern/engagement-ring-2-3/
> 
> Next Chapter: A bunch of behind the scenes moments to fill in all the blanks!


	23. Behind the Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few moments from Sherlock's PoV that might help fill in the blanks and don't include Molly at all. Oh... and no beds, so yeah. It breaks all the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very different as it doesn't move the story forward, it just shows what Sherlock has been up to. I have included all kinds of notes throughout this chapter to help you place the "behind the scenes" moment and why I wrote it. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the long delay. I usually stay 1-2 chapters ahead of myself, and I am now totally caught up. I have a tiny bit of the next chapter written, but life has hit hard and my time is very limited. It may be quite some time before the next update. I have 3-4 more chapters in mind, so stick with me! I'm so very honored to those of you who have been with me nearly from the start, and I'm thrilled that new readers love it just as much! You all have been so welcoming! Many thanks to: 
> 
> Shopgirl909 for being an amazing beta reader!
> 
> Sherlolly29_belle for providing me with my first bit of fan art for my story!
> 
> lilsherlockian1975, WayTooEasilyObsesssed, tobetheone, sthrngrlsrck, gabriella_t, Jess_Loves_Things_and_Stuffs, Sherlockian_87, Icecat62, leidibrf, Alyshaluz, Mandy95, applejacks0808, Bucky05, majesticlolipop, incomprehensible, DalekandtheTARDISat221B, shazzykins, Librarianmum, Saffysmom, and Arcoiris for the comments!
> 
> Saffysmom, Keeboo21, and Jvknepp for the bookmarks! 
> 
> itsdidi, moon_a_lone, jvknepp, Wildcats, RoyalMush132, YouGotAaceToCallHome, incomprehensible, dreamerstories, notdead, and CrystalCBS for the kudos!

NOTE:  A while back when I wrote Chapter 14: Exchange, I knew Sherlock was going to ask Molly to marry him, I knew he’d talk to his mother about it, and I knew he’d ask to give his Grandmother’s ring to Molly.  But writing from Molly’s PoV took away my chance to write that particular scene between Sherlock and his mother. So, I wrote it anyway. I debated at the time if I should post it along with Chapter 14, and my beta reader convinced me to wait until after he’d actually proposed so that it would be more of a surprise. I thought maybe someone would like to read the scene anyway.  Thus here’s another BEHIND THE SCENES moment.

 

_Molly hummed in satisfaction.  “What were you talking about with your mother after dinner?  You were gone for so long, I was ready to send out a search party.”_

_“Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” he said, and planted a kiss on her mouth before returning his focus to her neck._

_“I just…”_

_His hands found her breasts, and Molly suddenly lost the ability to think about Christmas gifts and mysterious conversations._

 Dec. 25:

Sherlock hated Christmas.  So much sentiment and nostalgia and love and general worshiping of false deities. It involved obligated gift giving and awkward family dinners and conversation stilted in kindness. Why did the human race put itself through this year after year?  And now he was in the thick of it.  He’d aligned his life with a woman who reveled in all things sentimental, especially holidays. He knew he would have to appease her with gifts every year and carols on his violin and hot cocoa in front of the Christmas tree lights.  He would conform for her, since it made her happy.  He was a difficult man, and this was a simple, all abite frustrating way to accommodate her desires and maintain a pleasant mood around their relationship. 

 Seeing as it was their first Christmas together as a “couple,” Sherlock couldn’t avoid the invitation from his mother to join them for Christmas Day. Mummy had quite magnificently proven she knew where Sherlock’s bread was buttered and asked Molly to ask Sherlock to come for the holiday.  Of course, once Molly knew about the invitation, there was no going back on it. Sherlock had to say yes out of fear of not only upsetting his mother but also the woman he loved.

 Yes, he loved her.  Shocking as it was, it couldn’t be denied.  He loved her completely.  In fact, he felt she belonged to him, and he intended to solidify that claim before Molly realized what a complete and total arse Sherlock was. 

Which was why he readily agreed to attend Christmas at his parents’ house. He had to go there to get the main ingredient in his plan.  Which brought him to the moment where he’d secretively followed his mother into her bedroom and closed the door.

“Good lord, Sherlock!” his mother said, jumping out of her skin when she saw him.  “What are you doing in here?”

“I needed to talk to you in private for a moment.”

“What about?”

“Molly,” Sherlock said, unable to resist a smile.

“She’s lovely, Sherlock,” Violet smiled. “Which makes me wonder…”

“What?”

“Well, I love you, even after all the grief and pain you’ve given me, because I’m your mother.  It’s sort of a requirement. And as much as I believe everyone else should love my boys, you and Mycroft can be rather off putting, especially to the gentle sex.  So for Molly to…”

“Your vote of confidence is overwhelming,” Sherlock said, taking a step into the room.

“It isn’t that, Sherlock.  You know how difficult you can be.  She seems so full of love and life and joy.  Everything that you’re typically not.”

“Well, they do say that opposites attract.”

“Yes, they do say that.  And I know she loves you.  And, more to the point, I know you love her.  Don’t even try to deny it. Your eyes follow her. You hands reach for her or are always touching her.  You are deeply smitten with this girl.”  She walked to her mirror to check her hair.  “Don’t you dare mess this up.”

“I don’t intend to,” Sherlock said.  “Which is why I’ve come to ask you for Grandmother’s ring.”

Violet gasped, looked at his reflection in the mirror, and then turned to face him full on.  “Are you joking?”

“No. I know that being the eldest, the ring should go to Mycroft to use as he’d like.  But let’s be honest with each other, that ring will never see the light of day if you give it to Mycroft.  It will look much better on Molly’s finger than it does sitting in a box. “

Tears were pooling in Violet’s eyes.  “Oh, Sherlock.  I never thought either of you would have need of the ring, but of course you can have it.”

“Technically, you’re saying Molly can have it.”

Violet shook her head at him and went to the bureau on the other side of the room.  She removed a small box from the top draw and handed it to Sherlock. “Will you do it tonight?”

Sherlock opened the box, looked at the diamond ring, and closed the box again. “No, so please don’t say anything just yet.  I plan to do it on Valentine’s Day.”

“Valentine’s Day? Isn’t that a bit overly romantic of you?”

“Yes, but Molly will like it.  She’s into that sort of thing, you know.  I figured dinner at the restaurant I took her to on our first date coupled with champagne and roses would be exactly the perfect prelude to a proposal. That should grant me enough credit in the romance department to get me through for several months.”

“That’s not how romance works, my dear.  If you show her you are capable of giving just a little, then she’ll be expecting more.”

“Well, it will have to do.”

Violet walked up to him and took his face between her hands. “I’m very happy for you.”

“I’m happy, too.  It feels…strange… but I am happy.”

Violet laughed and patted his cheek.  “I’m happy as well!”  She went to the door and said, “After all, I’ve always wanted grandchildren.  Now, maybe it will be possible!”

Sherlock stiffened, took a deep breath, and followed his mother out of the room.

 

 

NOTE: When I finished writing the Christmas scene, I couldn’t get some possible comments from Mycroft out of my head.  I could hear some vile and rude things, but didn’t quiet know how to work them into the story.  And when it became very clear to me that Sherlock wouldn’t propose until after the baby was born, this moment popped into my head.  It went through the most revisions of anything I’ve written for this fic, but I felt Mycroft was such an integral character in building Sherlock’s behavior, it was important for me to know exactly how Sherlock would respond to Mycroft’s insults.   

 Feb. 12:

Mycroft never did anything small.  Sherlock rolled his eyes as he looked around the so-called “home” stuffed with antiques and showy art and nothing that demonstrated any real interests or personal connections. How cold. How unimaginative.  How boring. 

“I gather something is a miss?” Mycroft said entering the grand room.

“I’d say so, brother dear.  I think you’ve decorated your residence to resemble a museum rather than a home.” He picked up a small wooden sculpture and examined it. 

“I simply didn’t inherit the gene that can abide clutter,” Mycroft said. 

“At least my clutter reveals something of a personality,” Sherlock replied. 

“What did you want, Sherlock?”

He paused a moment.  He’d never said the words out loud to anyone, so this would be a first. “It’s ironic that you mentioned inheriting things.”  He placed the little kick knack back on the table. 

“Why? Have you figured out at long last that your girlfriend is pregnant?” Mycroft said, taking a step closer to Sherlock. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on Mycroft.  Skipping any question as to how Mycroft knew of Molly’s condition, Sherlock said, “She isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Really?  Then are you sure the baby is yours?”

In the next instant, Sherlock’s hand was around Mycroft’s throat. “You will refrain from any implication that Molly is anything less than perfectly faithful.” He squeezed slightly, and then released his hand.  “Of course it’s mine.”

“I was merely responding to your claim that she isn’t your girlfriend.” Mycroft adjusted his tie.  “Do you prefer fiancé?”

Sherlock clenched his teeth. “We aren’t engaged.”

“Oh, but you are, Sherlock. You are engaged in an intimate relationship. You’ve taken her into your life, into your home.  And now you will be engaged in the unimaginable task of fatherhood.” Mycroft seemed to be looking at something in the distance.  “To think of someone so young and immature as a father…”

“Why do you always insist on referring to me as a child?”

“Because you are a child.  A child who has produced a child.  Your inability to commit to the mother and legitimize your offspring is proof of your childishness.”

Sherlock’s gaze shot daggers at his brother.  “The next time you refer to my child as illegitimate, I will slice out your tongue.”

“I don’t mean offence.  Merely stating my concern that the Holmes line and name should continue through your offspring.”

“The child will have my name whether Molly wants it or not.”

“I see,” Mycroft went to the sidebar to pour a drink. “She’s refused you, then?”

 “No,” Sherlock said with a sigh of exasperation. “I never asked.”

“But mummy said you’d taken grandmother’s ring.”

“Mummy needs to keep her trap shut.”

“It’s all in the family,” Mycroft said with a devious smile.

Determined to get past this line of questioning Sherlock said, “I didn’t propose to Molly, as was my intention, because she posed some concerns over my dedication and commitment to her and the child.  There were things said that gave me pause and made me reconsider. Had I asked for her hand after such a conversation, she would have assumed the proposal came from a place of guilt or obligation.  As it is, we will move forward with our current relationship status altering to that of expectant parents rather than engaged couple.”

“And what do you want from me?” Mycroft sat down and sipped his drink.

Sherlock swallowed and hoped Mycroft wouldn’t pick up on the nervousness that he felt.  “I need a last will and testament drawn up naming Molly and her child as my beneficiaries should something ever happen to me.  All of my earthly possessions and any money that may come my way from the family trust should be designated to their benefit and use.  I’d also like a trust set up for the child to be deliverable upon his or her twentieth birthday.  You can pull the funds from my own accounts.”

“My, my,” said Mycroft. “Worried you won’t last long?”

“I intend to be here for a very long time.  However, given past circumstances, I feel it would be illogical to assume I will never face danger to the point where my own life is at risk. In my profession, death is an unfortunate possibility.  I want every precaution taken to ensure Molly and the child are cared for should ever something serious happen to me.”

“I assume you would also like a power of attorney drawn up.”

“That would be preferable.  Given that I will not have any legal say over Molly’s care as her spouse, I would like it in writing that all medical information can and should be shared with me. If something should happen to Molly, perish the thought, I will not sit in the waiting room while her mother dictates the procedures that could save her life.  I want full access to her records and any information her doctors might need to share with me for any reason.”

Mycroft frowned, “Honestly, Sherlock, you have to know I’d never let any harm come to her or the baby.  It’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll never produce a biological heir. While I don’t understand the need for companionship, I do recognize the circle of trust you’ve created with Molly, John, and Mary.  I would have never allowed your relationship with Molly to continue if I didn’t see the stability she’s provided.  She’s centered you, grounded you, and focused you.  And I think you know that it would be simpler were you to just marry her.”

“I told you, I can’t.  I won’t have her believing that I’m asking her to marry me as a reaction to the fact that she’s pregnant.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” Sherlock sneered. “I would propose to her if not for the pregnancy.”

“You must realize how backwards that sounds.”

“Yes, but proposing now would cast a shadow of doubt over my sincerity. All I want right now is for you to get me the things I’ve requested so that I can move forward without worry over the legal issues.”

Mycroft took another sip from his glass.  “If the proposal doesn’t come from a place of reactionary obligation or guilt, then why exactly do you want to marry her?”

Sherlock’s eyes locked with his brothers.  Firmly, and with determination, Sherlock said, “Because I love her. Not that you’d understand anything about that.”

“Of course,” Mycroft said. “And nothing says ‘I love you’ like power of attorney.”

Without another word, Sherlock left before he did bodily harm to his brother.

 

 

NOTE:  My friend IRL was reading my story and hated that Sherlock waited to propose. She said that if I did intend to have him wait because he didn’t want Molly to see it as a reaction to the pregnancy, then he needed a real reason for going ahead with the proposal after the baby was born.  Again, Mycroft popped into my head and basically explained things to me.  I was surprised, but had to write it down. I hope this will explain everything about Mycroft and put closure on his hand in the storyline. 

Text from Mycroft to Sherlock in Chapter 20

 _Open your eyes and see the truth about her.  Hasn’t this gone far enough?_ – MH

September 10 late:

_Am I allowed to greet the newest and youngest Holmes?_ – MH

Upon receiving the text, Sherlock excused himself from the room and went out in the hall to where Mycroft was waiting. 

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Sherlock said.

“I came to meet my nephew.  After all, he’s probably the only one I’m ever going to have.”

“Then why weren’t you here yesterday?”

“Because I knew you had your hands full with visitors anxious to see the proof of your sexual relationship with Ms. Hooper.”

Sherlock did not like the snide tone in his brother’s voice. “I told you I wouldn’t allow you to see Molly or the baby if you couldn’t be respectful."

“Oh come now, Sherlock.  Are you really going to forbid me access to your brood after what I did for you?”

“Without question.  What you did was offensive.”

“How so?” Mycroft seemed genuinely stunned.

“You know damn well what happened.  The last time you spoke to Molly, you insulted me and my relationship with her to the point where it had her in a fit of tears.  I won’t have you bringing any sort of darkness into this moment for her.”

“I only did what needed to be done.”

“By adding stress to the situation and trying to separate us?”

“Tell me, Sherlock, have you proposed to her yet?”

The randomness of the question left Sherlock frowning. “What?”

“When we spoke about the situation in February, you told me she had voiced concerns over your commitment and dedication that made you reconsider a proposal. When you told me you actually loved her, which is something you’d say to Molly to get what you want from her but would never say to me unless you honestly meant it, I knew you were only being your stubborn childish self about her supposed lack of belief in your loyalty to her.  I assumed you would eventually see the error of your ways and marry her before the baby was born rather than allow your child to be born out of wedlock.  Even I recognize the importance of legitimacy. Thus, when I realized that wasn’t going to happen because you hadn’t even proposed to her in spite of her obvious love and devotion to you, I decided to push her buttons in an attempt to either reinforce your decision to withhold a proposal or confirm my own belief that you have been foolishly blind to the truth of the situation.”

Sherlock thought back over the conversations, putting pieces together that had previously made no sense.  “You did it on purpose,” he stated.  “You said those things to Molly to get her to defend me.”

“I even said so in my text.  I told you to open your eyes to the truth.”

“That’s not the truth I thought you meant.”

“Obviously. And yesterday when I saw the odd hour of the incoming call rather than a text from you, I knew it was either because Molly had gone into labour or that you’d run off and eloped.”

“You know Mummy would skin me alive if I deprived her of the chance to attend my wedding.”

Mycroft hummed.  “At the rate you’re going, Mummy will be dead an buried before you propose to Molly.”

“I proposed to her last night,” Sherlock said pointedly.

“Again, curious.  You told me you didn’t want her to see your proposal as a reactionary event.  Surely offering marriage just after a child is born would be considered reactionary.  What made you change your mind?”

“She wanted William to have the name Hooper.”

Mycroft smiled.  “But there was more than that.  All you would have had to say was that, as your son, his name would be Holmes.  She might not have liked it completely, but she would have eventually given into you.  So why else did you feel it an appropriate time to propose?”

Sherlock really didn’t want to admit his reasons to his brother, especially now that he knew Mycroft’s plan had actually worked.  “I felt her devotion at various stages of the pregnancy. I knew she understood me and trusted me.”

“And you knew that because she defended you to me.”  Mycroft didn’t even hide the triumph in his voice.

“Fine,” Sherlock said with a sneer.  “Her defense of me and my ways sped up the process, but I would have proposed to her eventually anyway. 

“Perhaps.” Mycroft adjusted his coat and stood even straighter.  “May I now go in and see your son?”

Sherlock did not want to be indebted to his brother.  Absolutely not!  Debts to Mycroft were often repaid in triplicate.  However, he also knew now was not the time or place for an argument. He slowly opened the door to the room and led Mycroft in where he quite proudly introduced him to William Holmes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...? Everything clear with Mycroft? Did you like a behind the scenes glimpse at Sherlock? 
> 
> Next chapter is tentatively titled Veracity, and I promise Sherlock will hold the baby!


	24. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a note...

Hi everyone - 

I'm currently in research paper hell! I'm in a class that requires a 4 page paper every week in addition to a message board post that is about 2-3 pages long in text.  I also have a 20 page research paper due in 6 weeks.  On top of that, I go back to work full time at the school in four days and will be toting kids all evening to extracurricular activities.  In case you didn't know, I'm a single mom, so it all falls on my shoulders to tote them everywhere and feed them and help with homework. 

Why do I tell you this?  Because I have half of a crappy chapter written with no time in sight for adding to it or posting!  It's going to be a while before you have more of my story.  I'm so sorry!  I love this fandom and didn't want to leave you all hanging without an explanation.  I tried to write some the other day as a stress reliever, but what I wrote was just horrid!  It didn't sound right at all.  Please hang with me as I promise that I WILL finish the story eventually.  It's just probably going to be a month before you get any updates.  

Thank you all for your support!  You guys have been wonderful! 

 

Lori (Alphie)


	25. Veracity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is getting much sleep at 221B Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a drill! This is an actual update! My course load is so much less this term that I've been able to finish this chapter and get a good start on the next. There are only a few more chapters and I would hate myself if I didn't get them finished. I hope its worth the wait. 
> 
> So many, many thanks to:
> 
> Shopgirl909 for being an amazing beta reader, as always!
> 
> Mandy95, tobetheone, ReadsALot59, Alyshaluz, AlexaRaven, Herstory_Angel, lilserlockian1975, Sherlockian_87, notdead, yami2003, Sherlolly29, reesiesteve, Raelynn, Bucky05, meedingAnOubliette, Isabeau+Marie, gabriella_t for their patience!
> 
> Olicity_smoak_queen, yessy1717, and austina for the review comments!
> 
> TinnesBite, janinehawkins, yessy1717, LadyEleanor, madapingu, mercurysmile, and Unlucky87 for the bookmark! 
> 
> Lois209, BootieMonet, Vixen_519, Zestydew, austina, yessy1717, madapingu, sourpatch26, olicity_smoak_queen, magetha, Caroline_kix91, TuesdayTerrible, hunterplushy, La_Fuesta, and DalekandtheTARDISat221B for the kudos!

22 – Veracity 

Molly had never felt so tired in all her life. Yet as heavy as her eyelids felt, and as physically drained as her body was, she couldn’t ignore the cries coming from the bassinet. It was becoming a routine that William would want to be fed around 2:00 in the morning. She’d feed him and change him and put him back to bed only to be forced to pick him back up a few minutes later. He wouldn’t stop crying unless she picked him up. So she’d hold him in the rocker and fall asleep sitting up. It wasn’t good on her back or her nerves or her emotions, but there was no way she could sleep while her son was crying.

Unlike Sherlock. He seemed to be able to sleep through anything! Molly was beginning to resent him, especially since he didn’t have to wake up every three hours to feed the baby. He had proven to be an expert at changing nappies, which shocked Molly. He played his violin for the baby, which always calmed William down. He even insisted on holding the baby quite frequently, a sight that always melted Molly’s heart. So it wasn’t as if Sherlock wasn’t proving to be an attentive father. She just resented the fact that she was the one who never slept. 

William let out a piercing wail, and Molly shifted to sit up. 

“Don’t pick him up.”

Molly turned to look at Sherlock in surprise. “What?”

He was lying on his side with his eyes closed. “Leave him alone.”

“I can’t do that. He’s crying.”

She turned toward the baby and was stopped by Sherlock’s hand on her shoulder, pressing her back down to the bed. “He’s fine. If you pick him up, he’ll only cry more.”

“No, if I pick him up, he’ll stop crying. That’s how this works.”

Again she tried to sit up, yet this time Sherlock’s arm went around her middle, holding her in place. “He cries because he wants you to pick him up. That’s how this works.”

Molly’s emotions were at war. She really needed to pick up the baby. Every instinct in her body told her to pick up her son and comfort him. However, she did not want to move away from Sherlock. As helpful as he’d been in the last few weeks, he hadn’t really touched her. He’d dropped little kisses on her cheek from time to time, but there had been very little physical contact since the baby had been born. It had been a concern of Molly’s, but now that his arm was snug around her waist, she was oh so aware of how distant he’d been. 

William’s cry tore through her heart, demanding action. “Sherlock, I can’t just ignore my baby!”

“Why is he crying?”

She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were still closed, which was so frustrating. “I don’t know. That’s why I have to pick him up!”

“No.” The arm around her middle tightened. “Figure it out. What logical reason would he have for crying?”

With a sigh, Molly said, “He cries when he’s hungry,” she whined, fighting back unwanted tears from being too tired and too emotionally worn out. “But I just fed him. He shouldn’t be hungry.”

“Right, so what other reason might he have for crying?”

“He’s dirty.”

“Did you change him when you fed him?”

“Of course!” she snapped, still fighting back tears that were now forming out of anger. “I always change him when I feed him.”

“Then what are the chances that in the five minutes between you putting him down to sleep and this conversation that he has soiled himself so horribly that he’d need to cry about it?”

Molly shook her head, really hating that Sherlock was forcing her to listen to William cry while he deduced their son rather than just letting her take care of him. “No, he probably doesn’t need his nappy changed.”

“Then why else would he be crying?”

“Maybe he’s hurt?”

“What could possibly hurt him?”

“Maybe he’s being smothered by a blanket. Maybe he can’t breathe!”

“You taught me how to swaddle him, so I know you didn’t wrap him up haphazardly. And he can’t roll himself over or really pick up any objects yet. I highly doubt he’s being smothered.”

“Well, then I don’t know!” Her voice was very squeaky.

Sherlock tugged on her until she was facing him. His eyes were open now, and he looked directly into her eyes. “He wants you to pick him up.”

“Then I’ll pick him up!”

“And then tomorrow night he’ll cry until you pick him up. And the next night. And the next night. He wants the warmth of your body. He likes your smell, the sound of your heart beating. He knows his mother, and he’d rather be in your arms than in a bassinet. He’s manipulating you to get what he wants.”

Molly gaped at him. “He isn’t manipulating me! He’s a baby! He doesn’t know how to manipulate me. Babies don’t even have that ability until they are much older.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly, “Well, clearly our son has a superior intellect than most babies, which shouldn’t surprise you given his genetic make up. He’s learned that when he screams, you come running. If you hadn’t just fed him and changed him, I’d allow you to give into your nurturing instincts. But in this case, in this moment, I believe William is perfectly fine and just wants to be held by his mother.”

Molly whimpered, but Sherlock continued making his point. “You are an instinctive nurturer. You are wired to give everything you can to the people you love, especially when they seem to be in distress. It’s part of who you are. I’ve known it since the moment I met you, and I’ve had that fact confirmed time and time again in the last two years. Every instinct in your body says to do whatever it takes to fix the problem, even at the expense of your own sanity and need for sleep.”

“Did you just admit to manipulating me?”

“Of course. I’ve admitted it in the past. Why be surprised to hear it now?”

“Like father like son.” She shifted away from him.

His grip tightened and pulled her closer. “Molly, darling, listen to me. Yes, I took what I had observed about your behavior and managed to influence you to allow me back into your life when you kicked me out. I would do it again if it meant the difference between being with you and living without you. But Molly, you’ve manipulated me, too.”

“How?”

“The very fact that I sleep with a cat and clean up the kitchen nightly is evidence of you manipulating me to get me to do things I don’t want to do. Every time you wear one of those skimpy little night dresses, you try to get me to do things I don’t want to do. And you know very well there are sexual techniques that will have me saying yes to any request.”

“But that’s—”

“I’m not complaining, and neither should you. Just stating facts that we both have used aspects of each other’s personalities to our advantage. In the end I believe we both got what we wanted and are very happy.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

It was the only way Sherlock would kiss her lately, and it bothered Molly something fiercely. “Well, I didn’t want you kissing me like I’m your child.”

“You’re not my child. You’re my… well you’ll soon be my wife.”

“Yet you hardly touch me.”

“What are you talking about? I touch you all the time.”

“No, not really. Not since William was born. You keep your distance, patting my arm when I need a little comfort or kissing my forehead in approval.”

Sherlock scowled. “You just had a baby.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Really? Thank you for clarifying that for me. I wasn’t quite sure what that eight-pound thing was that came out of my vagina!” 

“Now hang on a moment,” Sherlock said, leaning up on his elbow. “Where is this vehemence coming from? This started out as a conversation about William’s crying fits and has turned into an accusatory session suggesting I’m ignoring you, to which I take offence. You did have a baby, and as a new mother you are consistently touched and over stimulated by the needs of the baby. The book said that new mothers need space and time away from being touched. I was only doing what I thought was right for you.”

Molly frowned. “What book? Where did you get that from?”

“Your book on what to expect the first year.”

Molly’s frown deepened, but in confusion rather than anger. “You read my book?”

“Of course. I don’t know anything about babies.”

“Cover to cover?”

“Certainly. Didn’t you?”

“No. I read sections based on what I need.”

“Well, you must have missed this section.”

“No, I didn’t read it because I didn’t need it. I’m not over stimulated. I’m not trying to avoid being touched. I would like you to touch me and kiss me. I would like to know that you still want me. I would like to know that you really do want me to be your wife and that you’re not content with just being engaged. I want all of that.” The tears were again building up in her eyes. 

“Of course I want to marry you! Honestly, Molly, why are you saying these things? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know,” she said, pressing her face into his chest. “Blame the hormones, blame my lack of sleep. I don’t know.” She was crying now, in a whimpering, thoroughly undignified way usually reserved for pouting twelve year olds. 

Sherlock’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. “It’s normal for you to be overly emotional. However, there is no need to question my intent to marry you.”

She tilted her face up to look at him. He looked down at her. She pressed closer and sought out a kiss. He responded delicately. She slid her leg between his and deepened the kiss. Sherlock returned her kiss. She reveled in the proof of his desire pressed against her leg. “I want to marry you,” she mumbled into his mouth.

“And you will,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

He broke away. “What?”

“Let’s get married tomorrow. I’m tired of being a fiancé. I want to be your wife!”

Sherlock gaped at her, “Molly, be serious.”

“I am very serious.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you, Molly, and a quickly thrown together wedding is not what you want. You’ve probably had your wedding planned out since you were six years old. Admit it.”

Molly pursed her lips.

“You want a big wedding with flower girls and bridesmaids all dressed in horrible, matching gowns. You want to walk down the aisle of some grand church surrounded by candles while the bridal march plays. You want a wedding dress fit for royalty and a reception with all the expected trimmings. You can’t have those things tomorrow, so we will not be getting married until I can give you what you want. I won’t have you looking back in ten years saying ‘If only we’d waited, I could have had the perfect wedding.’ No, you won’t rush into this, Molly.”

Molly exhaled slowly. “There won’t be a church wedding, Sherlock.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t believe in God.”

Sherlock made a scoffing noise. “That matters little.”

“No, it matters a lot.”

“Since I don’t believe in a supreme being I have no fear of said being’s wrath for saying that I do believe in order to allow you to have the wedding of your dreams.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to have our marriage start off with a lie. No. No church.”

Sherlock searched her face. “Fine, but we still aren’t getting married tomorrow. Your doctor was most explicit about the fact that you aren’t supposed to participate in any sexual activity for a while. In fact, he said that nothing is to be inserted into your vagina until he gives the all clear. Not a tampon, not a finger, and certainly not a penis. I’m sorry, but there is no way I’m getting married so long as I’m forbidden to have sex with my wife. Thus, we can not and will not get married tomorrow.”

Molly reached across his body, lying somewhat on top of his chest, and picked up his cell phone from the night stand. 

“What are you doing?’ he asked.

She scrolled through the calendar and said, “October 28.” She put the phone back down and returned to her position on the other side of the bed. 

“What’s on October 28th?”

“That’s when we will get married.”

“What?! That’s only three weeks off!”

“It’s a Saturday, it’s after my sixth week visit to my doctor, and we have nothing scheduled for the day.”

“It’s still too soon.”

“Sherlock! Please!” she groaned. “I need this. I don’t need the big, fancy wedding you think I want. I need our closest friends and family. I need a pretty dress and some nice catered food. And I need you vowing to be my husband and to love me forever. That’s all I need.” 

Sherlock searched her face for evidence of her sincerity. Molly looked back at him with all the hope and longing she felt in her heart. 

“You won’t complain to me in twenty years that you didn’t get the big wedding of your dreams?”

“Not even in thirty years. Sherlock, the only thing I insist on having at my wedding is you.”

He thought for a moment. “Am I required to wear a tuxedo?”

She bit her bottom lip, hesitating. “No.” The word sounded more like a question.

Sherlock smiled slowly. “I will wear a tuxedo, Molly. And so will William.”

She kissed him soundly as a laugh threatened to escape. 

A sharp wail sounded from the bassinet.

Molly groaned and slumped against Sherlock’s chest. “What does he want?”

“He wants you,” he said softly, “and I can’t hold that against him.” He looked down at her, kissed her mouth in such a way that made Molly’s insides flip flop, and then pulled away to get out of bed. “I will take care of him.”

“But you said not to pick him up!”

“I told you not to pick him up. I can pick him up all I want.” Carefully, gently, Sherlock picked up the crying infant and cradled him against his shoulder. “He wants you, but he will get me. I’m not soft like you, but it will have to do.” His gazed shifted to the side to peek at the baby. “Let’s go in the other room and allow your mother a few moments of sleep before you’re hungry again.”

As the two men at the center of her universe headed out of the bedroom, Molly said, “I love you!”

“We love you, too,” Sherlock replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't yet titled chapter 23, but here's a sample of what's written...
> 
> Molly sat very still, a combination of anger and hurt twisting in her gut. The silence in the room was oppressive and painful to bare. 
> 
> “This is the reason,” he said very softly from his position on the other side of the bed, quite far away from her, “why I avoided intimate relationships for so very long."
> 
> Dun dun dun..... I know... I'm evil.


	26. Consumation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the following: 
> 
> Shopgirl909 for being an amazing beta reader even wit her busy schedule!
> 
> Arcoiris , spuffygirl, InMollysWildestDreams, tobetheone, mrbvblover, buttercup59, sadieblu72, lilserlockian1975, Icecat62, Bucky05, Alyshaluz, Isabeau+Marie, WayTooEasilyObsesssed, gabriella_t, and Sherlockian_87 for the review comments!
> 
>  
> 
> Wildermind54, heliophiliac, Butter_Bee, and notdead for the bookmarks!
> 
> Saffysmom, Ladyluck25, Happyfolk_05, SoCalDevi, PsalmReader, prodigal_chicken, and Bekah1218 for the kudos!

Chapter 23 – Consummation

 

“Molly?”

“Yes?”

“Everything all right in there?”

Molly checked her reflection again and decided that her hair should go over her right shoulder in stead of the left. “Yes. Just another minute.”

She could imagine Sherlock grumbling at her in the other room, but she didn’t care. She wanted tonight to be even more perfect than the day had been. Thus, she brushed her hair a few more times, making sure it looked sexy as it fell around her shoulder. She adjusted the strap of her negligee on the opposite shoulder to better cover her bra strap. Typically, this wasn’t the sort of thing she’d wear a bra with, but she didn’t have much choice given the state of her breasts. She felt totally unsexy wearing the bra, and grimaced at the idea of walking out and trying to explain her wardrobe to Sherlock.

“MOLLY! What the blazes are you doing in there?”

She took a very deep breath and exhaled as slowly as possible. “I’ll be right there.”

A dab of perfume behind her ear. Another swipe of the finger under her eye to smooth out her make up. A final adjustment of her breasts. Another grimace. 

“Sometime in this decade would be preferable!” Sherlock called from the other room.

Feeling more nervous than she ever had with Sherlock, Molly exited the bathroom and stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. Sherlock was already in bed, bare chest, covers over his legs. He propped himself up on his elbows as his eyes traveled up and down her body. She felt herself turn pink at his inspection, but she pushed it aside knowing there was so much more ahead of her tonight. 

“For all my yelling, I must admit the final result was worth the wait,” Sherlock said. “You are stunning.”

Molly shrugged and brushed a hand over the front of her negligee. It was made of cream colored silk with lace lining the décolletage and forming a delicate design around the hem that fell just above her knees. “Do you know how difficult it was to find something for tonight that wasn’t completely slutty or overly virginal?”

“Given that you neither look like a slut or a virgin, I would say that your efforts were not in vain.” Sherlock pulled back the covers next to him. “However, I don’t believe you will be wearing it for very long.”

Molly chewed at her bottom lip and walked around the foot of the bed. “Actually, we need to talk about that.”

“No. No talking.” He reached out to take her hand. “We’ve had enough talking.”

She pulled her hand away. “Really, Sherlock, I need to tell you a few things.”

He grabbed her hand again and tugged her so that she was sitting on the bed. “I know everything I need to know,” he said, running his hand up her thigh and scooting closer to her. 

“But…”

“No buts. Nothing more needs to be said.”

She removed his hand and said, “I mean it, Sherlock. We need to talk.”

“What?” he shouted. “What more needs to be said? There isn’t anything to say! All we’ve done for the last nine months or so is talk! Talk and fight for control over our sexual frustration. So what is in the name of all sanity could possibly be so important that it can’t wait fifteen or twenty more minutes? My God!” He huffed angrily and collapsed backward onto the bed.

Molly sat very still, a combination of anger and hurt twisting in her gut. The silence in the room was oppressive and painful to bare. 

“This is the reason,” he said very softly from his position on the other side of the bed, quite far away from her, “why I avoided intimate relationships for so very long. I have the tendency to become so frustrated with my body’s demands that it’s difficult to think clearly. I’ve never been well equipped at manners and saying the proper and appropriate things in social situations. When the blood flow is directed away from my brain, my ability to speak rationally is even more encumbered.” Slowly, he leaned up on his elbow to look at her. “I was rude,” he admitted. “Please, what was it you needed to say?”

Molly pursed her lips, afraid more than ever imagining how he would respond to her. She’d expected rebuke from him, but not full out anger. 

“Molly,” he pressed, “please. Talk to me.”

She shrugged. “I’m worried you won’t like what I have to say.”

“Are you going to tell me that we’re not having sex tonight, because that’s really the only think that would upset me at this point.”  
“Well,” she sighed, wetting her lips.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “We’re _not_ having sex?”

“Not if you’re going to yell at me and turn this night into an argument!”

“I’m not the one arguing here!” Sherlock snapped, and the stopped suddenly. He took a deep breath before saying, “I’ve admitted to you that I said the wrong thing. And given the state of my body, I’m going to continue to say the wrong thing. So I ask once more, will you please tell me what it is that you feel we need to discuss so that we can possibly move past it and avoid a real argument?” 

She blinked, and looked away from him. “My breasts,” she said hesitantly. “You have to make a choice. I can leave my bra on, which I know you won’t like, or I can take it off and run the risk of…” She glanced at him, knowing this was the last thing she ever thought she’d be talking about on her wedding night. “Since I’m still breast feeding, there could be some leaking if I take my bra off. So there’s the choice. I leave the bra on and avoid leaking, but you don’t have access to my breasts. Or I take the bra off and run the risk of having to deal with breast milk.”

Sherlock stared up at her for a few very lengthily and hard seconds. “Which would make you more comfortable? Would you rather leave the bra on or take it off?”

“I think I’d rather leave it on.”

“Then leave it on.”

She offered him a worried smile. “Are you sure that wouldn’t bother you?”

“Molly, in all honesty I’m more interested in what’s between your legs.” At Molly’s frown, Sherlock growled and buried his face in a pillow. “Again I repeat that I am not thinking with my brain right now.”

“Well, about that…”

Turning his head to look at her, he asked, “About what?”

“I had an episiotomy, so things might feel… different… for me. I just wanted you to go slowly and be gentle.”

Sherlock sat up and touched her hand. “You’re all right now, though, yes? The doctor gave your clearance to have sex? You’ve healed?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I just wanted you to know that it might feel different for me.”

Sherlock waited until she looked into his eyes before saying, “I promise, I can be gentle.”

She smiled. “I know.”

Sherlock looked back at her expectantly. “Is that all?”

“One more thing.”

He sighed in frustration.

“Just…er… remember that seven weeks ago I was hugely pregnant. I’ve only had a few weeks and my body isn’t back to normal yet. And the stretch marks won’t ever really go away. They will fade, but they will always be there.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to frown. His gaze was piercing. “Molly, you are aware that a short five hours ago I stood in front of all our family and friends and vowed to cherish you and honor you and love you in sickness and in health, stretch marks and all, for as long as I live? You were there. You heard me, didn’t you?”

“I heard you,” she blushed. 

“My opinion on the matter hasn’t changed in the last five hours. I am very aware that we have a baby. I was there when he was conceived. I was there all though your pregnancy rubbing oil on said stretch marks. I was there when he was born. I’ve been there every day since. I’ve seen your body. I’m aware of what you look like. I’m not ignorant to the changes that pregnancy has brought about, nor am I offended by them. If I were, not only would I prove to be the biggest asshole on the planet, but I also wouldn’t have married you today. Now, if you have no other concerns besides the fact that your breasts might leak and your body may look and feel differently, all of which are results of a pregnancy I took part in and supported, then I beg you, Molly, to please let go of these worries because I am desperate to make love to my wife.”

Molly’s heart swelled with love for him. Slowly, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. Sherlock allowed for only two soft kisses before taking her in his arms, pulling her against him, and swiftly lowering her to the bed. He rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him. His kiss demanded action as their tongues danced around each other. She reveled in the feel the full force of his desire pressing hotly against her middle. 

“And you believed I wouldn’t be turned on easily,” Sherlock mumbled into her mouth.

“I shouldn’t have worried,” she said breathlessly. 

“Darling, I’ve had an erection since this morning in sheer anticipation of this moment.”

She laughed, and then moaned in pleasure as his hands sought out her flesh under her negligée and eventually removed the offending garment to allow for better access. His mouth eventually followed a path over her shoulders, down her chest, and across the softness of her belly. “So beautiful,” he sighed, kissing lower and lower, until he removed her lace panties. 

Wanting all of him, Molly pushed off the covers with her feet and reached for him only to find him completely naked. She gaped at him a moment. 

“I didn’t see the point in wearing pajama bottoms,” he explained as he cupped her exposed body. 

His fingers worked a magic over and through her whole body. The expansive waiting through months and months was minimized as he set her body a flame. Within moments, she was writhing in unabashed euphoria, coming down from a peek of ecstasy that she hadn’t experienced in far too long. 

He granted her a few moments to catch her breath by kissing his way back up her body until he was lying fully pressed against her. He slid his leg between hers, opening her body to him, and said, “My turn.”

Staying true to his promise, his entry was gentle as he allowed her to become acclimated with the feel of their union. Fully joined together, she took a moment to enjoy the weight of his body covering her as he kissed her mouth and whispered his devotion against her skin. His love making was purposeful and tender, stroke for stroke, as he led her to the peek of oblivion once more. The shout of her name being ripped from his throat sent her over the edge. He collapsed on top of her, thoroughly spent and blissfully exhausted from his efforts.

It was a long time before either of them moved. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, dropping a kiss against her neck. 

“No, not at all.”

“You felt…small. Smaller than I remembered, that is.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Much too long.” He rolled to his side, pulling her to lie slightly on top of him. “Let me rest a few moments.”

She chuckled. “Of course. Sleep if you need to.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said. “I’ve waited far too long for this night. I’m not sleeping though it.” His eyes met hers boldly. “I intend to spend the whole of our time here, before we return to reality and work and parenthood, luxuriating in the consummation of our marriage.” He kissed her mouth before pointedly added, “Mrs. Holmes.”

“I love the sound of that,” she whispered. 

“Which one? The sound of a night full of sexual gratification or the sound of your married name?”

“Both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? It all worked out. Only one chapter left and I'm not sure when that will be. My beta and I have busy schedules. Thanks for all of your support thus far!


	27. Continuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly's life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I come to the ending of this journey, I need to thank some very special people who have been my cheerleaders along the way. 
> 
> First, and most importantly, to my beta reader, Shopgirl 909. She took on my fic after the first chapter had been posted without knowing where the story was going. She has reread some chapters 3-4 times as I’ve changed them up. She’s been a great sounding board for ideas and a help with various plot points. I owe you so much!
> 
> To Icecat62, Sherlockian_87, lilsherlockian1975, leidibrf, Bucky05 – Who have been with me from the start! Don’t even think I haven’t noticed!!
> 
> To Alyshaluz, gabriella_t, Iris_Reid92, applejacks080, tobetheone, mandy95, saidieblu72, Arcoiris, o0katiekins0o, Kathryn_bjordahl_1991, WayTooEasilyObsessed, InMollysWildestDreams, NeedingAnOubliette, Nemo, Iris_Reid92, sfmpco, and Kathryn_bjordahl_1991   
>  for being so supportive for so very long!
> 
> And to this fandom for embracing this fic and letting me play in this universe. You have no idea what all of your support has meant to me!

24 –  Continuation

 

In the still and quiet of the night, there really was no way to remain silent when unlocking a door, opening it, and then closing it. Yet that’s what Sherlock was attempting. A smile formed on Molly’s mouth as she contemplated his efforts to enter the flat as silently as possible. Were she not so in tune with his habits, she might not have noticed. But given that she had barely seen him in the last week or so, she was keenly alert to any sign that he was home and with her.

 

Molly could hear hear the rustle of his coat and scarf being removed. She sighed in affection for his faint footsteps heading up the stairs to where William slept. There was very little movement once he was inside their son’s room, and she imagined him looking at the three-year-old boy and concluding how the last few days must have been for him. Again, the footsteps sounded, this time down the steps and through the flat. Molly shifted into the most obvious sleeping position on her side and forced her eyes closed just as the door to the bedroom opened. She held very still as Sherlock quietly removed his shoes and clothing, plugged in his phone, and tip toed to the bed side. The covers were pulled back, and Sherlock lowered his body as slowly and carefully as he could onto the mattress. Molly held very still as he slid up against the back of her body and draped his arm over her waist. The silence of the room felt like a heavy weight as Molly held her breath in anticipation.

 

After a long moment, Sherlock’s deep voice whispered against her ear, “Are you wide awake or only just barely awake and hoping to go back to sleep?”

 

Molly turned her head to look over her shoulder at her husband. “How do you do that? You always know when I’m awake or not.”

 

“It’s simple. Your body isn’t relaxed. Thus, you must be awake.”

 

She smiled at him.  “You know I don’t sleep well when you’re not here.”

 

“Likewise.” He kissed her mouth and tugged at her body until she rolled over so that their bodies could fit together. The kiss grew needful as Sherlock wrapped his arms around her.

 

“Congratulations,” Molly said against his mouth, “on solving the case.”

 

“How did you know ? Did John text you?” he mumbled through more kisses.

 

“Simple deduction, my dear Sherlock.”

 

He pulled back slightly and quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

 

“You tried to be as quiet as a mouse when you came home tonight.”

 

“I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

 

Molly snorted. “That’s never stopped you before! If you hadn’t yet solved the case, you would have come in the door huffing and puffing in mental frustration. You’d have stomped around trying to find something to help you solve the puzzle. And when you felt you couldn’t avoid it any longer, you’d come in here and flop down on the bed and start mumbling to me about Lestrad’s incompetency or how you needed me in the morgue right away. You’re only quiet when you’re tracking a criminal or when you’re truly ready to relax.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes shifted in thought and then came back to focus on her. Before he could make a comment, Molly continued on.

 

“You also plugged your phone in on the other side of the room. And I believe you turned it off.  Were you still working the case, you’d insist on the phone being next to the bed in case Lestrad or John or someone sent you a text that would lead you to your next move.”

 

Sherlock smiled.

 

“Furthermore,” Molly said, “you crawled in this bed aroused and ready to go. We haven’t made love in over a week because you said you only had enough blood in your body to keep your brain focused on the case and couldn’t spare it for an erection. You couldn’t afford the distraction of sex. That’s what you said.”

 

Sherlock kissed her long and hard. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. His tongue danced around inside her mouth.  His body was hot and hard against her.  “Do you know how utterly sexy it is to be deduced by you?”

 

Molly ground her hips against him. “I have a pretty good idea.”

 

Sherlock chuckled darkly and dove in for another round of kisses. 

 

“By the way, you owe William a day out,” Molly said softly.

  
Sherlock stopped, groaned, and dropped his forehead against her shoulder. “I promised him the zoo a few weeks ago. Damn it, I’m a crap father.”

 

“You’re not a crap father,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “I told him how important the case was and that you would certainly make up the time when you were done.”

 

Sherlock rolled back and looked up and stared up at the ceiling. “I went in to check on him. He seemed bigger since the last time I saw him.”

 

“You saw him at breakfast.”

 

“But I didn’t really look at him.”

 

“Sherlock,” she turned his face so that he was looking at her eyes. “You are a good father. You just had a very heavy work load. It happens to everyone!”

 

He searched her face for a moment. “I never knew how much I could care about someone until he was born.”

 

“Redefining love, huh?”

 

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Stop. You know I love you both. Very much.”

 

“I do. I really do.” She kissed him, and he returned her kiss. It was slow and luxurious with the promise of more.

 

“Now it’s your turn,” Molly said with a tease in her voice.

 

“I know it’s my turn,” he replied.

 

“No, no. It’s your turn to deduce me.”

 

Sherlock pulled away again and looked at her with a furrowed brow. “Do what?”

 

“Deduce me.”

 

“In what way?”

 

“Well, keep it sexy.  When was the last time we had sex?”

 

Still frowning, Sherlock said, “Ten.. eleven… God, twelve days ago.”

 

“And before that?”

 

Sherlock shook his head. “Am I to just focus on the sex?”

 

“For now.”

 

“Are you angry that I haven’t been as attentive as I should be? That I’m a crap husband, too.”

 

“You’re not a crap husband! Stop that. Just keep going.”

 

He sighed. “Before that last time…you were ill. Stomach flu, I believe.”

 

“And before that?”

 

He thought a moment. “It was… when did…oh,” he said with a wicked grin. “John and Mary’s party.”

 

She blushed. “Yes.”

 

“That was delightful. Best party I’ve ever been to, and not for the food or the people in attendance. You were quite naughty.”

 

“So were you!”

 

“Could anyone blame me when you looked so delicious?”  


She rolled her eyes, “Oh, hush. Go before that.”

 

“Before? The party?” Sherlock sighed in frustration. “Are you wanting me to chronical our entire sex life?”

 

“Nope, we’re almost done. Just think…before the party.”

 

“Before the party… well,” he pursed his lips. “Oh, well before the party you had your cycle. You never want to be intimate then even though I really don’t mind.”

 

“Ok, now you can stop,” Molly said with a knowing smile.

 

“What?” Sherlock was obviously quite puzzled. “Stop… at your cycle? What would that…”

 

He trailed off, lost in thought as he worked through the puzzle. His breath hitched as he gazed into her eyes. The expression on his face suddenly shifted from confusion to understanding as his mouth fell open. He shifted away from her and looked down at her midsection and then back up at her face.

 

“Molly, are you pregnant?”

 

She nodded, a wide smile forming on her face.

 

“You’re pregnant?” he repeated. “Truly?”  


“Truly.”

 

Sherlock’s arms hugged her tightly to him, not out of any sexual desire but out of pure adoration. “I didn’t think I’d actually be able to surprise you!” Molly said.

 

“Oh, you surprised me, sure enough.” He kissed he neck and hugged her even more tightly. A moment later he pulled away, again looking down at her stomach. “Are you alright? How far in are you? How long have you known?”

 

“I’m fine. The baby is fine. I’m about five weeks in, obviously. I started suspecting it about a week ago, but I’ve known for certain for two days.”

 

Sherlock was mortified. “Two days! Molly! Why didn’t you say anything to me! You should be resting!”

 

“I didn’t want to distract you when I knew you were so close to solving the case, so I waited. I took today off from work. And I knew I was going to have to tell you this weekend because I have an appointment for surgery on Tuesday.”

 

“Surgery?”

 

“For the cerclage.”

 

That one word put a damper on the whole situation as she felt Sherlock’s whole body shift and stiffen. “But you’re all right for now?”

 

“Yes. I have a meeting at Barts tomorrow to tell everyone. And I’m going to place an add for some long term help with William.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’ll need someone here to help with him when you’re on a case”

 

From the disgusted look on Sherlock’s face, he clearly didn’t like the idea of someone else caring for his son. “We have Mrs. Hudson.”

 

“Oh, Sherlock! Be realistic. That’s not her job.”

 

He rolled onto his back and expelled a long breath.

 

She propped herself up on her elbow and placed a hand on his chest. “Are you upset? I’m sorry to surprise this on you. I know we didn’t plan this.”

 

“We didn’t plan for William either, but that didn’t upset me. Why would this child upset me now?”

 

“You were upset about William.”

 

“No,” he corrected. “You wrongly assumed I would be angry over your pregnancy and jumped to some insane conclusions that upset me. I was never upset that you were pregnant or that we have a son. And I’m not upset about the fact that we will soon have a daughter.”

 

Molly chuckled. “You’re so sure it’s a girl?”

 

“We have a boy. We need a girl. It’s as simple as that.”

 

“Well, I hope you told your sperm that the night of John and Mary’s party.”

 

A slow, devilish smile formed on Sherlock’s face. “You realize that you always seem to get pregnant when we have sex in someone else’s house.”

 

“Actually, I hadn’t thought of that!”

 

“Just something to keep in mind in a year or so from now when we’re tempted to fool around at another friend or family member’s residence.”

 

She rested her head on his shoulder and draped her legs over his. “Well, I leave that up to you because I can not resist you when you get in the mood.”

 

“I’m still in the mood, but something tells me I’m not getting what I want.”

 

“Not necessarily,” she said suggestively.

 

Their eyes met and held for a moment before Molly demonstrated her meaning. Sherlock would repay her after the baby was born. And he’d repay her on their anniversary. And on her birthday. And on Valentine’s day. And on Saturday mornings. For the rest of their lives. Of that she was certain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you've enjoyed the ride!


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